


This is the End

by OhLenaLena



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Angst and Romance, Draco Malfoy Feels, Draco Malfoy Flirts, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Fantasy, Feelings, Feels, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Forbidden Love, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Good Draco Malfoy, Hate to Love, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Professors, Love, Mystery, POV Hermione Granger, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Professor Draco Malfoy, Protectiveness, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Romance, Romantic Angst, Romantic Draco Malfoy, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Tension, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 24,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26184523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhLenaLena/pseuds/OhLenaLena
Summary: The Battle of Hogwarts is over...but what happens next? As the dust settles, Hermione tries to figure out her next move. Surely whatever she has planned isn't going to involve her sworn enemy, Draco Malfoy.These characters and world do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 37
Kudos: 51





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Here goes...

This is it. This is how it ends. The world of Harry Potter. The life of magic. The majesty of Hogwarts. This is where they go their separate ways. This is where they were headed for so long. Fighting for the end. There was so much fight and so much tragedy that they forgot to wait. To slow down. To stop and think and wonder. Wonder at their life. Wonder at themselves and what they have become. Wonder if it all went by so quickly that they never had the chance to wonder at all.

Hermione looks down at her suitcase, overstuffed with things she has never actually used. Sweaters and winter hats and toiletries. She takes a long look at the small bookshelf in the corner of her room, almost imperceptible under the pile of books. She sighs and heaves the suitcase up, spilling its contents over onto the bed. She walks over to the bookcase and starts to collect the books strewn around it and gingerly piles them into the newly emptied suitcase.

Once she's gone through about a third of the books, she lifts the lid of the suitcase over and attempts to zip it up. She groans when she hears a tear somewhere. Unzipping the case, she starts to look for the source. As Hermione tries to zip it up once more, having been unsuccessful in locating the tear, she leans into the suitcase, willing her slim body to compress the volumes in the case enough for it to close.

"Need some help there, Granger?"

In an attempt to be graceful, Hermione slips off of the suitcase and stands up, looking at the open door to her dormitory. Draco Malfoy, lopsided smirk and all, stands in the entranceway.

Hermione straightens her back but remains rooted to the spot, not knowing how to react. Just the other night they were sworn enemies. Before the end. Before the beginning. Before all the time that just dropped on her lap for which she has no place and no use. Before the wonder.

He looks tired. As if he hasn't slept in weeks. His eyes are bloodshot, even from a distance. She could see the dark bags carrying his gaze. His smirk isn't lively as she would expect, but weary and wavering, as if he were concentrating on keeping up appearances.

"Shouldn't you be in Azkaban by now?" she manages to say.

He doesn't move a muscle. Even his smile remains intact, although the corners of his mouth flicker.

"If only," he finally says.

A long moment goes by before Hermione speaks again.

"What is it that you want?" Malfoy's face is the reminder of everything that was. The more she watches him, the harder it becomes to breathe without crumbling. Her friends – Fred, Lupin, Tonks – all gone, maybe not because of Malfoy, but not in spite of him either. How could he stand here and just be? He has no right.

Draco shakes his head, tightening his lips. He bows his head slightly, breaking his gaze with Hermione, and lifts his hands in the air, backing away.

"What are you even doing here?" Hermione calls angrily as he retreats into the corridor. "Are you lost?"

Hermione heaves a colossal gasp and collapses onto her bed, sobbing uncontrollably. She grabs at the loose articles of clothing strewn upon the covers that were previously discarded from the suitcase and buries her face into them. Her cries are not quiet but nobody comes. Everyone has gone. Gone their separate ways. After all, it is the end.


	2. Chapter 2

In the common room, the stillness is crushing. The fire is out. The usual glow of the room is missing, and cool shadows engulf the darkest corners.

Hermione rests her suitcase on the carpeted floor and glances out of the window onto the blooming grounds. It's as if the world doesn't even know the horror that these castle walls endured. As if the birds kept on beating their wings, and the bees kept on drinking their nectar, and the heat of summertime kept creeping into their lives, despite it all. Like nothing ever happened. Her face still feels hot from her earlier crying session and her eyes sting. She hears footsteps coming from the winding staircase leading to the boys' dormitories. A pop of red emerges from the shadows.

"Heya, Hermione," Ron says somberly, walking out and dumping his suitcase onto one of the armchairs.

"Hi, Ron," Hermione whimpers softly. She can barely look at him without bursting into tears all over again.

Ron watches her in despair. "Don't do that," he says as Hermione attempts to stifle her emotions. "Don't you feel sorry for me."

"I can't," Hermione breaks down and runs at him, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his neck. "I'm sorry," she sobs. "I'm so sorry."

"We won, Hermione," Ron pushes her away harshly. "It's a joyous occasion." He opens up his suitcase and takes a sweater out, pulling it over his head and shivering. It may be warm outside but, without the fire burning, the common room is as cold as a dungeon.

Hermione shakes her head. "It's not." She blinks at him trying to catch his gaze.

Ron turns away from her and looks up at the staircase. "Where's Harry?" he says.

"Fred was," Hermione begins, clasping Ron's hand.

"I said don't!" Ron yells at her, ripping his hand out of her grasp. "For fuck's sake." He grabs his suitcase and heads for the door.

"Ron!" Hermione calls after him desperately but he walks out without another word.

…

Hermione trudges weakly through the Great Hall looking for Ron. She looks around the room remembering all the wondrous marvels she has witnessed here. All the festive colours that decorated the hall over the years, the luscious cuisine that was served, the blissful company of her peers, the ever-enduring friendships. She thinks back on Ron's reaction to her touch earlier in the day and shudders, banishing the thought from her mind. Her and Ron's connection is unwavering, she tells herself. It can tolerate most anything and prevail. Most anything.

Just as she looks up in search of Ron's fiery head of hair amid the grey darkness of the once glorious Great Hall, she sees a spot of white-blond hair on a head slumped down on one of the tables. Hermione rolls her eyes at the melodrama of Draco Malfoy. He sits alone with his head buried in his elbow, as if he is the victim in all of this misfortune. Hermione considers for a moment that his parents have likely been taken away, never to return. Good riddance, she tells herself, but nonetheless approaches the boy.

"I came to say goodbye," she says.

Draco looks up at her and raises his eyebrows. "I doubt it," he finally says.

"What do you mean?"

"I'll be seeing you around," he says, smirking.

Hermione scoffs, "You are insufferable! Here I was actually beginning to feel sorry for you."

Draco narrows his eyes, "I don't need you feeling sorry for me, Granger. I'm quite happy with the outcome of events."

"You're happy?" Hermione screeches. Her voice becomes so shrill that Draco winces. "You're happy?"

Draco shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "I thought you were leaving, Granger," he nods at her suitcase.

"Do you know," Hermione continues, tears sparkling in her eyes, "how many good people have lost their lives – have lost their loved ones – in this fight? While you sit here happy with the outcome."

"I never said I was happy with the process," Draco turns away, his smirk gone and replaced with a tightening of his lips.

"Well, this is the outcome, Draco," she says, smiling through her tears and opening her arms as if to allude to the emptiness around them. "Here it is!" she says triumphantly, but her tone is contemptuous.

Draco looks around the room despite himself. "Thank you for the analysis."

"Fred is dead," Hermione sobs, her gaze accusatory.

"I'm sorry," Draco says, looking up at her. "I'm sorry about Fred. And Professor Snape, and Lupin – and his wife. Professor Moody, Dumbledore. I'm sorry about them all."

"Well, at least you're sorry," Hermione retorts angrily.

Draco rises from his seat and approaches her. His face is drawn and his eyes appear jaded, as if he's given up. He nears her until his face is inches from her own. Hermione flinches at his proximity but stands her ground. "You may hate me all your life," he says quietly, watching her intently. Her gaze flickers toward him. "But you will never hate me as much as I hate myself."

Hermione shudders as he moves past her toward the door of the Great Hall. She turns and watches him walk away, and a twinge of sorrow suddenly grips at her chest when she realizes that these may be the last words she will ever hear him say.


	3. Chapter 3

The few students remaining at school are quietly bustling within and outside the castle. Chests and suitcases are being dragged across the grounds to the gates where others are already waiting for the Knight Bus. Others still are making their way to Hogsmeade where their parents anxiously await them. The air outside is thick and hot and seems to steal your breath rather than feed your lungs. But mostly it is dense with the gravity of what has come to be and of what no longer is. No exhilaration at the coming of summer that's baking the grass away or warming up the skin, still cool from being indoors. No celebration that school is out, and vacation has begun. No joy that the world has become a safe place for the first time in a long time.

Hermione is hauling her own suitcase, which she now regrets having stuffed primarily with books, down the steps toward the gates when she is approached from behind by Professor McGonagall.

"Excuse me, Miss Granger," she says, "a word?"

Hermione nods, "Yes, of course, Professor. Is everything alright?"

McGonagall nods with a solemn smile and motions for Hermione to complete her descent down the stairs before continuing to speak. "How are you, my dear?" McGonagall queries, searching Hermione's face.

Hermione shrugs and looks beyond McGonagall toward the gates of Hogwarts. "Better than some, I suppose," she answers. "And you?"

McGonagall sighs and her face softens. "I have been better."

Hermione wrinkles her eyebrows and glances at McGonagall. "I'm sorry," she says.

"As am I," says McGonagall, grasping Hermione's hand and squeezing it in her own.

"Harry is still packing," Hermione says, "if you're looking for him."

McGonagall shakes her head and speaks again, although she looks as though she might break down in tears at any moment. Her voice quivers but she seems determined to compose herself. "I needed you, young lady," she squeezes Hermione's hand again.

Hermione waits for a few moments before McGonagall is able to speak again.

"What are your plans," McGonagall says, "for next year?"

Hermione is slightly taken aback because she hasn't taken even a moment to plan her life past the events that took place just days before. She shakes her head, "I haven't made any." She seems surprised by her own response.

"Well," McGonagall says, smiling while blinking back some tears, "I would be honored if you would consider, among what I'm sure will be many offers, a position right here at Hogwarts, as our new professor of Muggle Studies."

Hermione stares at McGonagall blankly, barely able to process the request.

"Think about it, my dear," McGonagall says and, after giving Hermione's hand one last squeeze, she starts to walk back up to the castle doors.

Hermione stands still amid the bustling students making their way toward the gates, as if in a trance. The warm breeze envelopes her face in a sweetness she hasn't experienced for a long while. The suffocating heat seems to have lifted and she takes a deep breath of the summer air, a flicker of a smile fluttering across her lips. This may be the end but, in another, more subtle way, it is also a beginning.

…

Hermione sits at the High Table and looks out at the gathering of students at their respective tables, excited and chattering about the year to come. She smiles, thinking of the eager and perhaps slightly apprehensive first years waiting for their entrance just outside the grand doors of the Great Hall. The summer was slow and tedious, but autumn has finally arrived, and she is here, back where she belongs. She glances up at Professor McGonagall, who sits in the throne at the centre of the staff table. Seeing this moment come to pass fills her heart with joy.

McGonagall is introducing the professors at the table and signals for Hermione to stand. "May I introduce to you, your new Muggle Studies instructor, Professor Granger," she says. "Welcome," she bows her head toward Hermione, smiling warmly.

Hermione beams and waves at the crowd of cheering students. As she sits down, she hears McGonagall say, "And, of course, your new teacher for the Defense Against the Dark Arts," McGonagall nods toward a figure quickly moving along the right side of the hall, obscured by the shadows outside the illumination of the floating candles, "Professor Malfoy."

A dash of white flickers as Draco Malfoy leaps onto the platform toward the staff table, stirring his blond hair as he turns his head toward the crowd of students.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Hermione groans under her breath.


	4. Chapter 4

As Draco arrives at the front of the hall, he flashes a brilliant but controlled smile at his audience, but the students seem confused and unsettled. A murmur passes through the Great Hall while some scattered claps ring out and quickly fade as students begin to look around in search of the source. Malfoy seems uncharacteristically uncomfortable but nevertheless continues to smile as he nods at the teachers before he sits down. His gaze lingers momentarily on Hermione and he appears surprised to see her, but he quickly composes himself, straightens his robes, and takes his seat at the far end of the table.

After the Sorting Ceremony and feast, the students are whisked away by the prefects of their respective houses and the staff members begin to make their way out of the hall. Hermione remains in her seat for a few moments, admiring the brilliant colours that decorate the Great Hall, having been prepared, just a few months ago, to never witness this marvel again.

She's deep in thought when Draco approaches her. "I told you we'd meet again," he says, winking at her when she looks up.

Most of the teachers are at the far end of the hall now and only the two of them remain on the platform. With all the commotion of the night, she has almost forgotten that he is here. She looks at him vacantly and says, "So you did."

"Starry night," Draco says, pointing up to the enchanted ceiling.

Hermione looks up dreamily and sighs, appreciating the beauty of it all. Then blinks, suddenly roused from her reverie, stands up abruptly, and says, not looking at Draco, "So it is." She gives him a quick, unsympathetic glance and walks away.

…

Hermione sits at her desk in the front of the classroom, reading a book. One by one, students begin to file in and she looks up. Some arrive alone, others in groups, the hum of chit-chat rising as the density of bodies increases. Hermione is stunned as more and more students enter the room even as all the seats have been taken. Those coming in now are gathering in clusters near the entrance or percolating through the crowd to stand at the sidelines of the classroom. Others have planted themselves square in the middle of the aisles between the desks, lowering their books onto the ground beside them and looking up eagerly toward the front where Hermione still sits, dumbfounded. Once the rush of incoming students slows to a trickle, Hermione displays a small smile filled with gratitude, clasping her hands under her chin and intertwining her fingers.

One student begins to clap somewhere in a cluster of students near the door and soon the entire room is filled with cheers and applause. Hermione starts to laugh and lowers her gaze. She shakes her head and looks up, saying, "You know this is Muggle Studies, right? Not Harry Potter 101."

There is a soft wave of laughter that permeates the room and then everyone falls silent, all eyes on Hermione.

After a moment of thought, Hermione finally says, "This has got to be a fire hazard."

…

Hermione walks down the corridor of the ground-floor toward the staffroom. She sees the cracked gargoyles from a distance and wonders why they haven't yet been mended following the Battle of Hogwarts at the end of the previous year. Before she arrives at the entrance, Hermione suddenly experiences a rush of cold air. Shivering, she looks around for an open window. There is a window to her left but it is shut tight. Puzzled, Hermione starts to feel around the frame, looking for a broken seal. After having prodded the entire lower half of the window, she resigns, unable to sense a draft, and the chill around her has disappeared as quickly as it had originated. For several moments Hermione stands still, wondering if she had imagined it all. Shaking her head, she continues toward the staffroom.

Hermione enters a long room adorned with some moving paintings, panelling, and the old Boggart wardrobe. Several teachers sit at a table, speaking in low voices. The other tables are empty. Hermione makes her way to one of them, taking out her quill and parchment as she walks. She sets down her book bag on one of the chairs and begins to write.

"How was your first day?" McGonagall asks as she walks into the staffroom.

Hermione looks up from the letter on which she is feverishly working. "I was just writing all about it to Ron," she says.

"Hm?" McGonagall raises her eyebrows, seeing Hermione's broad grin. "It went well, then, I suspect?"

Hermione nods, "It was magnificent! I feel like a celebrity."

McGonagall chuckles, "I thought it might go something like that. You are something of a hero, you know?"

Hermione giggles, "You're making me blush, Professor."

"Minerva will do," says McGonagall.

"Oh," Hermione exhales slowly, "I really don't think that it ever will, Professor."

McGonagall smiles and pats Hermione on the shoulder. "I'm glad you had a wonderful first day, dear," she says.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione sits on a wide armchair in the staffroom, her feet propped on a footstool near the crackling fire. She's got a large textbook in her hands entitled "The Philosophy of the Mundane: Why the Muggles Prefer Not to Know". She sighs contentedly and reaches for the hot mug of tea that stands, steaming, on a side table to her left. Concentrating on the book in her lap, Hermione misses her mark and knocks over the mug. She gasps and looks up just as Malfoy, springing up from a table behind her, points his wand in her direction. She watches in horror as he flicks his wand at her and, just like that, the mug that's falling from the table suddenly slows. The tea that's pouring rapidly out reverses direction and soon the mug and its contents are safely back upon the side table by Hermione's armchair.

Hermione narrows her eyes at Malfoy and whips her head back around toward the fire, glaring at its hissing flames crossly.

"You're welcome," she hears his drawl from behind.

She spins her entire body to face him. "I wouldn't, Malfoy," she retorts.

"Wouldn't what?" he smirks.

"Wouldn't start with me," she says through gritted teeth.

Malfoy watches her for several moments that seem to take a lifetime, his eyes fixed on her irritated face with a sort of amusement. "Fine," he finally says, "next time, I will let you drop the ball – or rather – your tea."

Hermione narrows her eyes and slowly turns away. An instant later, she rotates back and says, "Why are you here, Malfoy?"

Malfoy blinks up from his book and brings his hand over his mouth, resting his chin on his thumb. His hand is long and graceful, a ring adorning each of his fingers. "Here, in the staffroom?" Malfoy says slowly, grinning at her, "Or here, in the universe?"

"Here at Hogwarts, obviously!" Hermione is almost shaking with aggravation.

"I really bother you, don't I?" He says, smirking.

"Argh!" Hermione huffs in frustration. She springs up from her seat and slams her textbook shut, shoving it into her book bag. She gathers her things and storms away, saying, "Stay out of my way, Malfoy," as she passes him.

…

The first few weeks are tumultuous to say the least. Hermione divides her time between the library and Hagrid's hut when she's not in the classroom. Lesson planning takes up most of her time. She tries her best to occupy herself lest she has time enough to despair over the wreckage of the last several months. She makes her way to the Owlery in the West Tower, contemplating the letter she just finished writing.

The air is cooler in the Owlery, a breeze ruffling the feathers of the owls closest to the windows. She trudges across the room, her footsteps muffled by the straw under her feet, and looks up at an orange-tinged barn owl at the far end of the Owlery. The owl tilts its head and watches her as she approaches and tentatively holds out her arm. In her hand she is tightly gripping a rolled-up scroll. The owl spreads its wings and hops down onto her forearm. She smiles and strokes the feathers around the owl's neck as it drones in a low tone. After attaching the parchment to the owl's leg, Hermione raises her arm out towards the window and lets it take flight.

Hermione watches the bird fly until it has disappeared in the distance. The sky darkens quicker now that it is October and the grounds below are swimming in a fog that comes off the lake. Everything is calm and still in the courtyard as the darkness moves slowly to overtake the glow that the sunset casts upon the walls.

But there is movement near the side entrance toward the Hospital Wing. Hermione is about to leave when she sees it, travelling in a fluid manner, with a sort of buoyancy that doesn't appear human. The dark figure slowly melds into the shadows cast by the West Tower and disappears from view.

Hermione bounds for the exit, racing down the winding steps so quickly that she even misses a few and has to catch her balance. Once out of the tower she skids to a halt at the turn to the outdoor staircase so as not to somersault off the jagged bluffs. She continues running down even as darkness gently engulfs the grounds and she can only see a few steps ahead at a time. Suddenly, she collides with someone making their way up to the tower and is thrust backward by the impact.

"Ow!" Hermione hears a familiar voice as she scrambles wildly to get back up. "What's your deal, Granger?" Malfoy complains, rubbing at his forehead.

"Where is it?" Hermione springs up. "Where did it go?"

Hermione pushes past Malfoy on the narrow staircase.

"Where did what go?" Malfoy calls behind her. "Have you lost it?" His voice is suddenly amplified so she knows he is running after her.

"There was someone here!" Hermione gasps desperately as she arrives on the ground and hurtles toward the side entrance near the Hospital Wing. She stops at the door and bends over, clutching at her side.

Malfoy, who's right behind her, stops abruptly so as not to crash into Hermione again. "Yeah," Malfoy says, taking in some deeper breaths, "people live here, you know?"

Hermione shoots him a dirty look.

"Maybe it was Madam Pomfrey," Malfoy ventures.

"It wasn't a person!" Hermione snaps at him.

"Okay," Malfoy says slowly. "Was it a rabbit?"

"Just leave if you're not here to help," Hermione huffs.

Malfoy raises his eyebrows. "You want me to help?"

Hermione looks back at him, "What? No, that's not – just go, will you?"

Ignoring her request, Malfoy walks in front of her and examines the wall of the building, looking up and around and even brushing his hand over the stone.

"What are you doing?" Hermione says, sounding rather exasperated.

"Checking for cracks in the shield charms. Sometimes you can see them," he says.

Hermione steps forward and begins to look around, trying to spot any opening where outside forces could potentially sneak in – or out – of Hogwarts.

"What is going on?" Hermione suddenly exclaims, knocking her palm against the wall. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

Malfoy turns to look at her. "What?"

"Anything," Hermione says quietly. "Nothing was supposed to happen this year. It was supposed to be a normal year."

Malfoy chuckles, "What's normal for you? Giant water snakes? Deadly tournaments?"

Hermione gives Malfoy a small smile. "Uneventful was what I meant."

"So really," Malfoy says, "you were hoping for a highly irregular, terribly boring year."

"Yes," she sighs. "I would love one boring year."

Malfoy shakes his head, "Alright, Granger, one boring year coming right up."

She purses her lips then chuckles quietly. "I didn't imagine it, you know?"

Malfoy nods, a small grin on his face, "I didn't say you did."

"Okay," Hermione says, watching him stand before her, taller than she recalls. His hands are in the pockets of his suit pants and his dress shirt ripples in the breeze. "A little extravagant for the owlery, don't you think?" she says, pointing to his tie.

Malfoy smirks, "Haven't had a chance to change since my lesson." His grey eyes look dark in the twilight but his blond hair still glows like a beacon under the moon.

Hermione shrugs. "It suits you," she says.

Malfoy laughs. "C'mon, Granger," he says, throwing his arm over her shoulders and leading her back around the quad toward the front entrance, "Let's get you home before you get us into trouble."

As they walk, Hermione says, "Didn't you have an owl to send?"

"Ah," Malfoy says, "it's not urgent."


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione leads her students out onto the quad where Madam Hooch is just concluding a flying lesson with a group of first years. She nods at Hermione with a smile while directing her class to pile their broomsticks to the side of the courtyard, ready for her next class in the afternoon.

Hermione prefers taking her students outdoors when the weather permits because they can more comfortably enjoy the lesson without having to cram into the Muggle Studies classroom. Just as they were in the thick of discussing the reason muggles decide to purchase machines to do their housework, (because they can't do magic), a bloodcurdling scream erupts from behind Hermione.

Hermione spins around to locate the source of the shriek, but doesn't have to look far. She narrows her eyes when she sees Malfoy smiling at her from across the quad, his students assembled around him, while two are standing across from one another, in a dueling position.

Hermione excuses herself from her class and approaches Malfoy. "Don't you have a classroom?"

Malfoy raises his eyebrows. "Don't you?"

Hermione folds her arms indignantly. "I was here first," she says.

"You were here yesterday," Malfoy shrugs.

"You are disrupting my class and you need to leave this instant!" Hermione's voice becomes louder as her frustration mounts.

"I could say the same to you," Malfoy smirks. "You're the one who's come here and interrupted my lesson."

"Stop being such an inconsiderate dunce!" Hermione shouts and a few of Malfoy's students raise their eyebrows, their heads turning from Hermione's direction to Malfoy's and back again. Meanwhile, Hermione's class has broken formation and is quietly approaching from behind, the students in the back craning their necks to get a better look at the commotion.

"Have you ever considered for a moment that you're the one being an ass?" Malfoy retorts, his grin disappearing.

"I'm not backing down, Malfoy," Hermione stamps her foot on the ground.

"Bring it on, Granger," Malfoy's eyes flicker menacingly. He reaches for his wand and motions his students to clear a path for him.

Hermione instinctively clutches at her own wand.

"Alright, boys and girls," Malfoy smiles, "you're about to catch quite a show."

"Yes," Hermione nods maliciously, "a real example of defense against the Dark Arts." She gestured toward Malfoy as though she means him.

Malfoy narrows his eyes and raises his wand. Hermione steps forward and points hers directly at his face.

"Draco! Hermione!" A stern voice booms and echoes across the courtyard.

The pair drop their stance and turn to face McGonagall just as she rushes down the quad to meet them. "What on earth is going on here?" She looks back and forth between the two of them in astonishment.

Suddenly, Hermione feels as though she were back in school – as a student herself. A rush of heat steals at her cheeks, quickly running down her neck and out towards the tips of her ears.

"A demonstration," Malfoy quickly says, clearing his throat.

McGonagall looks at the engrossed students about them and says, "Right."

Hermione bows her head.

"May I speak with you both?" McGonagall begins to walk away and Malfoy and Hermione follow.

Once they are out of earshot of their students, McGonagall turns on the pair. "Are you completely out of your minds?" Her glare is intimidating, and she looks about ready to duel herself.

"We're sorry, Professor," Hermione says quietly, unable to meet her gaze.

"I don't care how you feel about each other outside of the classroom. But while you are in my school, you will respect the integrity of your positions!" McGonagall rails.

Hermione clasps her hands together and brings them to her face, finally looking up at McGonagall, "Of course, Professor. Absolutely. It won't happen again – what is that?" Hermione stares past McGonagall's head.

Malfoy looks in the direction of Hermione's gaze while McGonagall is still poised for the remainder of their apology.

Hermione starts to walk, first slowly past McGonagall, then more briskly, still looking up to the sky. "It's my owl!" she cries, starting to run.

McGonagall turns in exasperation and looks upward to see what is causing the turmoil.

"Excuse me," Malfoy says to McGonagall and starts to jog toward Hermione, looking up at the owl as he goes. The owl, while initially on it's way to the West Tower, is now doing strange flips in the air above them. It's squawking and fluttering around as if in distress.

When he reaches Hermione, Malfoy sees that she is distraught. "My owl," she exclaims, tears in her eyes.

"I'm sure he's alright," Malfoy furrows his brows, confused by her reaction.

"No," Hermione shakes her head, her gaze following the owl's every move. "It's from Ron!" She claps a hand to her mouth and starts to sob. "It's got a letter! Look!"

Malfoy looks up and sees the parchment roll attached to the bird's foot. The next instant he's gone and, a moment later, Hermione hears a high-pitched whistle to her right and a current of air sends her hair flying about her face. Once she brushes it away, she sees Malfoy, up on a broom, flying brazenly toward the frenzied owl.

Malfoy gains on the owl as it dips and spins, reaching for it with an outstretched hand. The owl suddenly halts in midair, lets out a high pitched shriek, and plummets toward the ground. Malfoy spins his broom around and dives down after it, accelerating toward the earth. At the last moment, when all seems almost lost, Malfoy scoops up the owl inches above the ground and straightens his broom just in time to avoid crashing into the quad. He skids to a stop before Hermione, panting, and hands her the owl, which is shivering in his hands. A burst of applause erupts from behind them as students from both classes cheer.

Hermione looks up at Malfoy in disbelief. She blinks down and, with a shuddering sigh, unties the roll of parchment from the bird's foot. She bites her lip, as if debating whether she should read the letter, and finally slides it into her robes and looks up with a tight smile. She takes the owl from Malfoy and presses it to her chest, stroking its tawny feathers.

McGonagall, who has been watching the scene unfold from the sidelines, shakes her head, her gaze following Malfoy as he steps off his broom and walks to the side of the courtyard to toss it back onto the pile of broomsticks Madam Hooch left behind.


	7. Chapter 7

Later that evening, Hermione skips dinner, grabbing a few rolls from the staff table before she slips out. She is on her way to Hagrid's hut for dinner but has no intention of eating his fiery bean soup - which, naturally, will have actual burning flames licking the rim of the bowl. She wolfs down the buns as she runs up the steps to the teachers' quarters, just past the staffroom, hoping to change out of her teaching robes into more comfortable attire. She approaches her room at a half-run and almost misses the fact that her door is slightly ajar. Hermione gasps and slows her stride, unsure how to continue. She begins tiptoeing toward the room, listening for noise from within.

Once she's got her hand on the doorknob, she eases the door open slowly and winces when it creaks obnoxiously. Inside, her belongings are strewn about the floor, but it looks like the perpetrator is gone. Hermione begins to gather her things, trying to figure out if anything is missing. Nothing is.

Forgetting all about Hagrid's hut after finishing her cleanup, she double checks that her front door is locked and mutters an additional charm at it before turning in for the night.

...

The next day, Hermione spends her free morning in the library. She is pouring over the stack of books she's picked from the shelves when she suddenly rises from her seat. Slamming a thick volume shut, she scoops it up and, tucking it under her arm, heads out of the library toward the third floor.

She reaches the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom quickly because she is nearly sprinting. When she arrives, she hears Malfoy's drawl from inside. She peers through a small slit in the door and sees him, standing at the front of the class, laughing.

"Is that right?" he says, looking toward the back of the classroom. The students at their desks turn their heads to look behind them.

"Well, aren't you?" a male's voice says from the back.

"Well," says Malfoy in a thoughtful tone. "I suppose I am. Watch out!" Malfoy whips out his wand and points it out toward the students. A jet of streamers and fireworks splashes out and showers the giggling students before Hermione has a chance to draw her own wand in defence. "Whoops," Malfoy chuckles. "I've forgotten the words, it seems." More laughter ensues from the students. "They may have to kick me out of the club now." He lowers his wand and shakes his head, still smiling. "They're quite selective, you know? Death Eaters?" He points to a girl in the front row, "You wouldn't make the cut." Some students snicker but the girl looks down shyly. "It's a good thing!" Malfoy exclaims. "You wouldn't either!" He points to a boy who is laughing a few rows down.

"You did," says the male voice from the back of the classroom.

Malfoy nods with a tragic smile. "I did. Not on merit – I assure you."

The room falls silent.

"And look where that got me, anyhow," he says ironically, gesturing outward at the students. "Teaching you miserable bunch, am I right?" He winks and the students laugh.

When the laughter tapers off, Malfoy hops up to sit on his desk. "I'm here," he says, a hint of anguish in his tone, "because someone believed there was more to me than I ever showed. And," he sighs, "as I try to prove him wrong –" more snickers from the students, "I will teach you to not make the same mistakes." He watches the students soberly. "You can laugh at my family name, talk about my Mark behind my back," he holds up his hand and, pulling back his sleeve, exposes his branded forearm. "Call me a traitor to my face, whatever. But know this: there is nothing that you can say or do that will make me turn my back on you." The students turn their heads, looking at one another, their faces rich with perplexity. "I will do for you," Malfoy says, "what he did for me." Malfoy jumps off his desk and shrugs, turning away, "If you need me to, that is."

When the students remain silent for several moments, Malfoy turns to face them, grinning, "Ugh," he says, "I hate school! What a drag."

Hermione chuckles quietly, bringing her hand up to stifle her laughter. The motion pushes on the door and it creaks. Malfoy looks sideways in her direction and sees Hermione's shadowed face peaking from outside of the classroom.

He clears his throat and says, "Alright, you hooligans, that's enough for today. Class dismissed."

After most of the students file out of the classroom, Malfoy motions for Hermione to enter as he closes the books on his desk and begins to pack up. "What can I do for you, Granger?" he says, eyeing her as she makes her way to the front of the classroom.

"That was quite a speech," she says, as she approaches him.

"You heard that, huh?"

"I might have caught the tail end."

Malfoy looks up at her and says, "What can I say, I'm a natural educator."

"Actually," Hermione says, "you're not bad."

"I don't think you've ever referred to me as 'not bad'," Malfoy says. "It's making me uneasy – heartbroken really. I'm the token bad guy."

"Strange being in here without Snape," she says, looking around the room to avoid Malfoy's gaze. The classroom is just as Snape left it – dark and ominous. The curtains are drawn and the walls are covered in horrific artwork. "I feel like I'm going to get into trouble."

Malfoy smirks, "Not entirely off the table."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she says.

"Just kind of your thing, isn't it?" he says, still grinning.

"It is not my thing!" Hermione says indignantly.

"Oh yeah?" Malfoy shuts his bookbag and looks at her intently. "Why are you here?"

Hermione looks down and purses her lips self-consciously. "Something happened," she starts, pausing to scan the room and waiting until the last few students have left the classroom before continuing. "Something happened," she whispers, looking up at Malfoy.

"What happened?" Malfoy whispers back, mocking her.

Hermione stares at him crossly. "I won't tell you if you won't take me seriously."

Malfoy takes in a deep breath that sounds an awful lot like a fake gasp and says, "Well, whatever will I do with myself if you don't?"

Hermione sighs in frustration, "Tell me, how does anyone tolerate you?"

Malfoy shrugs. "I really couldn't care less." He stacks the rest of his books on his desk and slides his bookbag onto his shoulder, ready to head out.

"Someone's broken into my room in the staff quarters," Hermione blurts out before Malfoy can walk away.

Malfoy stops moving and stares at her. "Broken in?" he says. "While you were there?" His voice sounds shaken, as if he's shocked – or scared.

"No," she says. "When I came to my room, I saw the door was open. The place looked as if it had exploded. Someone was obviously looking for something."

Any semblance of a smirk has been erased from Malfoy's face as its features harden. His eyes light up in anger and he drops his bookbag onto the desk. He looks away from her, his jaw set, as he sits down onto his desk chair, wrapping his long fingers around his chin. The rings adorning his fingers glint in the dim light of the candles. "Did they take anything?"

Hermione shakes her head, "Nothing was missing."

Malfoy stares blankly past his desk onto the floor, thinking. Finally, he says, "See? I told you trouble was your thing." He glances up at her and flashes a brief, strained smile.

"Look at this," Hermione says, dropping the book she is holding onto his desk. She points to a section entitled: Animal Enchantment. "I think my owl was cursed."

Malfoy narrows his eyes and says, "Who would want to curse your owl?"

"Who would want to search my room?"

"What does this have to do with your room?" he says.

Hermione shrugs. "I don't know how they'd be related. Except that they both happened to me."

"Yes," Malfoy says, "but that's nothing new."

Hermione ignores his commentary and continues. "The spell is quite complex so it would have had to be a sixth or seventh year."

"Or a teacher," Malfoy posits.

Hermione stops with her mouth open, still poised to speak. "A teacher?" she says finally. "But why?"

Malfoy shrugs. "Why a student?"

Hermione watches him as he blinks up at her, unsuccessfully trying to conceal his concern. He looks as though he's seen the world and would give anything to unsee it. "Are you okay?" she says.

"Am I?" he asks incredulously as he rises.

"I just mean, all that talk about Snape," Hermione says tentatively. "That's who you meant, right?"

Malfoy looks away and runs a hand over his brow. "Of course, it was Snape," he says harshly. "Who else would it be?"

Hermione flinches at the severity of his voice. "Well," Hermione says quietly, "if Snape believed that you were redeemable, perhaps you are."

Malfoy gives her an ironic look. "You don't say, Granger," he says. "And we all know how indispensable your approval is to me."

Hermione rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Forget I said anything," she says, turning and beginning to walk away.

"No, no!" Malfoy runs behind her. "No, hang on! Hermione Granger –Hermione Granger – thinks that I, Draco Malfoy, am redeemable. Her words!" He points to Hermione, looking around the empty room as if he's talking to somebody. "Your words!" He turns to her, laughing.

Hermione tries to hide her grin and shakes her head. "You are so annoying."

"Whew," Malfoy says as they walk out of the classroom together, "redeemable. Not bad. 'Not bad' at all."


	8. Chapter 8

"Why don't you just tell McGonagall?" Malfoy says as Hermione steers him toward the front doors of the castle.

"I'm already on her radar," Hermione says. "I don't want to bring any more attention to myself."

Malfoy nods in amusement. "So, naturally, you decide to take matters into your own hands."

"Just walk, Malfoy."

"You know, I'm starting to understand how it is that trouble seems to follow you around," he says. "You are the trouble."

"I just want to talk to Hagrid. He might be able to shed some light on the whole owl situation."

"Maybe your owl was just tired," Malfoy shrugs.

Hermione glares at the back of his head as she pushes him through the doors. "Are you finished?"

Hermione and Malfoy make their way down toward the Forbidden Forest. The sky overhead is just beginning to flood with a rosy glow as the sun sets behind the glassy lake. The still surface of its waters reflects the orange streaks that break up the darkening clouds. The air is crisp, and mist escapes their mouths with every breath. They descend toward the lawn and head across the field to Hagrid's hut.

They walk in a comfortable silence, as if neither one has much to say to the other. The wind picks up their cloaks as they traverse the courtyard and Hermione shivers, pulling her coat tighter over her chest.

Malfoy looks over at her and, taking out his wand, mutters an incantation. The tip of his wand begins to shine like a spark. "Here," he stops when Hermione scowls at him skeptically. She stops and holds out her hands tentatively as he slowly winds the wand in circles.

Soon, she begins to feel a warmth radiating from the wand and smiles. "I don't know that charm."

Malfoy raises his eyebrows. "A charm Hermione doesn't know? That's a first, I dare say."

Hermione nods, chuckling, "I think so."

He watches her carefully as she rubs her hands together and hovers them over his wand. "So, what did Ron have to say?" he says casually.

Hermione glances up sharply, looking as though he'd insulted her. "I haven't read his letter yet," she says curtly and concentrates her gaze back onto his glowing wand.

"You haven't read it?" Malfoy says.

Hermione shrugs, not looking at him. "I haven't had a chance."

Malfoy narrows his eyes. "You were so hellbent on getting it, but you haven't had a chance to read it?"

"My room was ransacked, did you forget?" she huffs.

"I'm not buying it," Malfoy says.

"You don't have to buy it," Hermione snaps and shoves her hands into her pockets. She turns briskly and begins to walk away.

"Hang on," he says, shaking his wand out like a match and sliding it back into the inside lining of his cloak. He starts after her. "You don't have to tell me what he wrote, you know?" he says as he catches up. "But you don't have to lie."

"I'm not lying!" Hermione cries, stopping abruptly and glaring at him.

His incredulous expression changes when he sees her glistening eyes, and an unfamiliar semblance of sympathy emerges on his face. "Okay," he says softly. "You haven't read it yet."

Hermione tears her gaze away from his and looks over his shoulder toward the hut that's still a ten-minute walk away. "Come on," she says, starting to walk again.

"What is that?" says Malfoy from behind. When she turns to look at him, she sees him staring into the dense trees of the Forbidden Forest.

Hermione whips her head around to look in the same direction and sees it: a cloaked figure navigating around the trees. It moves in a graceful, gliding manner, as if it is floating.

"What is it?" Hermione breathes.

She feels Malfoy approach from behind and put a hand on her shoulder. "We should stay back," he says.

"Are you kidding me?" she says. "Let's go!" Hermione grabs his hand and pulls him after her toward the forest, bending forward to minimize her size in the large, empty courtyard. Malfoy curses under his breath and stoops to follow her.

They round the corner of Hagrid's hut, watching as the figure drifts toward the darker depths of the forest. Hermione, realizing that she is still clutching Malfoy's hand, drops it in disgust. "Are you coming?" she says, inching slowly along the wall of the hut toward the forest.

"Granger," Malfoy sighs, folding his arms. "There's fearlessness and then there's recklessness. You're bordering dangerously close on the latter."

Hermione turns back to look at him in exasperation. "Are you scared, Malfoy?"

He blinks at her in disbelief. "I am," he whispers. "As any sane person would be."

"Come on, Malfoy," she scoffs. "You did the dirty work for the most dangerous wizard of all time but you're frightened of some trees?"

"That's quite the sweeping statement but, yes, I'd rather not find out what's hiding behind the trees."

"Ugh!" Hermione exclaims as quietly as possible and heads toward the edge of the forest.

"Granger!" Malfoy hisses. When she doesn't turn around, he grits his teeth and calls again, in a louder whisper, "Hermione!"

When she disappears into the trees, he groans and silently pounds a fist against the wall of the hut. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath and treads warily toward the forest after her.


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione skirts the outer trees, keeping the cloaked figure in her line of sight as she moves deeper into the woods. The bright light of the moon doesn’t make it through the rustling foliage of the trees overhead and a dense darkness unfolds as she enters. She squints, trying to make out the scene unravelling before her.

The dark figure becomes no more than a distant blur, moving so quickly now that Hermione can hardly keep up. The twigs snap underneath her feet as she rushes forward and, even as she winces at the crunching that disrupts the silence, the figure does not stop or turn. At last, when the figure comes to a body of water – a small, silver pool in a clearing, its waters reflecting subtle, iridescent moonbeams – it slows. It slows almost to a halt – before _gliding _like a skater over its shimmering surface, its cloak fluttering in its wake!__

____

Hermione stops dead in her tracks and stares. For an instant she’s mesmerized by the effect, but soon realizes that she’s left herself exposed and hides, gasping, behind the thick trunk of an ancient tree.

____

“Hey,” Malfoy whispers from behind and Hermione jumps.

____

“Oh,” she says when she sees him. “It’s just you.”

____

Malfoy sighs. “Yeah, you’re welcome for joining you.”

____

“Can you be quiet?” Hermione mutters feverishly.

____

Malfoy stares at her. “No,” he mouths.

____

Hermione glares at him with wide, threatening eyes and brings a finger to her mouth. She turns away from him and peeks out from behind the tree. “I lost it,” she says under her breath.

____

“Then why are we whispering?”

__

____

…

____

__  
_  
_

Hermione knocks gingerly on the front door of Hagrid’s hut. Their pursuit of the hooded figure turned up empty and they returned to Hagrid’s doorstep in silence. Now they hear thunderous footsteps approach the door from inside, and then the click of a lock, and then another, and then they see Hagrid’s beaming face.

____

When he opens the door, his grin falls slightly at the sight of Malfoy. “Blimey, Hermione,” he says. “I didn’ know yer bringin’ guests.”

____

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “I’m hardly ‘guests’, Hagrid,” he says.

____

Hagrid shrugs and holds the door open for them. Once they’re inside, he offers them some biscuits with tea and, before they answer, puts a kettle on the stove. After lighting the element, he hesitantly makes his way to the table where they’ve seated themselves and lowers himself with a grunt onto one of the kitchen chairs which looks awkwardly fragile underneath him.

____

Looking back and forth between them as they sit quietly makes Hagrid visibly uncomfortable and he finally says, “So, what brings yeh here?”

____

Malfoy eyes Hermione pointedly and she purses her lips when she sees his expression. “Some strange things have been happening, Hagrid,” she says.

____

“Strange things?” Hagrid says, rising as the kettle begins to whistle. “Keep talkin’,” he calls as he makes his way back to the stove.

____

“Well, for one thing,” Hermione says, turning her head in his direction, “my owl was acting bizarrely the other day, just as it was bringing me a letter.”

____

“A letter?” Hagrid hollers, pouring out three large cups of tea.

____

“From Ron,” Hermione sighs. “It doesn’t matter.”

____

“Are you sure?” Malfoy sneers.

____

“What d’ya mean?” Hagrid says, looking at Malfoy as he sets a tray of hot tea and biscuits down on the table.

____

“I mean,” Malfoy says, “how is she so sure that it had nothing to do with Ron’s letter?”

____

Hermione narrows her eyes. “Just earlier today you thought my owl was ‘just tired’,” she says.

____

“That was before you became so secretive about the contents of the letter,” Malfoy says.

____

“I’m not being secretive!” Hermione snaps. “I haven’t read it!”

____

“Yeh haven’t read it?” Hagrid says. “Why not?”

____

“Ugh!” Hermione huffs.

____

“I wouldn’t go there,” Malfoy says as Hagrid leans back in his seat, looking slightly bewildered.

____

Hermione shakes her head and continues. “Then, my room was broken into.”

____

“What?” Hagrid sits up in his seat and the chair creaks under his weight.

____

“I wasn’t there when it happened,” she adds. “But it looked like someone was looking for something.”

____

Hagrid is watching her in alarm. “Did yeh tell McGonagall?”

____

Malfoy lets out a snort and Hermione shoots him a look of loathing. “I’d prefer to leave McGonagall out of it,” she says quietly and clasps her hands on her lap.

____

“Why?” Hagrid bellows and Malfoy jumps a little in his seat, splashing his tea onto his robes.

____

“Damnit, Hagrid,” Malfoy snarls and Hermione bites her top lip to keep from laughing.

____

“What?” Hagrid says, completely oblivious to what had happened.

____

Malfoy shakes the dripping tea from his hand and says bitterly, “Nothing.”

____

“There’s something else,” Hermione says.

____

“Hm?” Hagrid looks back at her.

____

“We saw a –” she begins, “a – I don’t know what it was, honestly.” She looks at Malfoy for assistance.

____

Malfoy shrugs and says, “A suspicious person?”

____

“It was floating, Malfoy,” Hermione says, narrowing her eyes at him.

____

“It was not floating,” Malfoy retorts.

____

“It was too –”

____

“Okay,” Hagrid holds up his hands. “You saw somethin’ … odd.”

____

“More than odd,” Hermione folds her arms. “It’s dangerous. I’m sure of it.”

____

“An’ you think all of these events are connected somehow, do yeh?” Hagrid says.

____

“Do you?” Hermione glances at him hopefully.

____

“I’ve no idea, Hermione,” Hagrid says and then shakes his head. “But I don’ like it, le’ me tell yeh.”

____

“So, pretty close to how we feel,” Malfoy says lazily. “Who’d’ve thought?” His eyes flicker toward Hermione.

____

Hermione ignores him and continues. “Do you have any thoughts about my owl, Hagrid?” she says. “You should’ve seen him. It was dreadful. He kept darting back and forth before finally dropping out of the sky.”

____

Malfoy leans forward in his seat and says, “He was trembling.”

____

“What’s tha’?” Hagrid looks over at him.

____

“When I caught him,” Malfoy reiterates, “he was trembling.”

____

Hagrid blinked in confusion. “ _You_ caught him?”

____

Malfoy just watches him somberly for a few moments. “Righ’,” Hagrid finally says. “How was he after?”

____

“After what?” Hermione pipes in.

____

“After he fell.”

____

“Well,” Hermione says. “He was shaking, like Malfoy said. But, other than that, he was fine.”

____

Hagrid narrows his eyes. “Was there anything with him? In the air?”

____

Hermione shakes her head.

____

Hagrid slides his chair back and its legs agonizingly scrape the floor. “I wouldn’ be so sure.”

____

Hermione and Malfoy exchange dark glances and Hermione jumps up from her seat to follow Hagrid into the kitchen. “What do you mean, Hagrid?”

____

“It’s extremely difficult to possess the spirit of an animal,” Hagrid says. “That’s very old magic. Not jus’ anyone can do it. Scarin’ an animal, on the other hand, well, tha’s a piece o’ cake.” He takes a large, jiggling pastry out of his oven.

____


	10. Chapter 10

“What d'you think?” Malfoy says as they walk back to the castle.

Hermione shrugs. “There was nothing up there. Just the owl. You were there,” she looks up at him. “Did you see anything?”

Malfoy shakes his head. His expression is contemplative, his face plunged in crude shadows now that the sky has darkened. The lake to their left is like an empty hole, devoid of the faintest light. The only hint of its existence is the lapping of the waves against the rocky shore.

Hermione takes a deep breath and looks up. Above, the sky is speckled with an infinite dusting of stars. Some are bright and bold; others are faint and twinkling. “Can you imagine a more beautiful place?” she says finally.

Malfoy glances at her and then directs an inquisitive gaze toward the sky. “Honestly?” he says. “I’ve been to some beautiful places.”

“Oh God, shut up, Malfoy,” Hermione laughs and gives him a soft shove.

He laughs. “Watch it, Granger.” He rubs at his shoulder. “That’s my wand arm.”

Hermione shakes her head, still smiling.

“Tell me something,” he says. They’re walking slower now. When she glances back at him, he pauses, squinting to make out her facial features in the darkness. She just stands there, watching him, without needing to look away like he does. He stares down at his feet for a moment before looking back up. “Why’d you come to me?”

“What?” she seems taken aback.

“Well,” Malfoy smirks. “It’s no secret that I’m not your favourite person.”

Hermione opens her mouth to respond but no words come out. She bites at her lip and turns her head away. As her hair flies in front of her face and she tucks it behind her ear, she scans the darkness ahead of them. “Who else would I go to?”

Malfoy shrugs. “Ginny,” he says half-heartedly.

Hermione gives Malfoy a reproachful look. “Involve a student?” she says.

“Hagrid?” he gestures back toward Hagrid’s hut.

Hermione shrugs. “Look,” she says, slightly exasperated, “it wasn’t my plan to involve you. You kind of involved yourself,” she says accusingly.

“How?” Malfoy cackles.

“Well, you’re just … always there!” Hermione says loudly, as if she’s trying to defend herself.

Malfoy’s smirk widens unintentionally as he watches her struggle to explain something that she can’t quite understand yet.

“Besides,” she says, “I trust you.”

Malfoy blinks, stunned. “Are you mental?”

She laughs. “I don’t know, Malfoy. I know you. You’re an ass. You’re stuck up and you’re mean. You’re ignorant quite often.”

Malfoy sucks in his cheeks to keep from grinning.

“You’re annoying,” she continues. “But,” she pauses and sighs, “you’re not a bad person.”

Malfoy raises his eyebrows. “I beg to differ.”

Hermione shrugs. “You’re you, Malfoy. You have always been so painfully you. I just, I know what to expect.”

Malfoy nods, “Okay.” When they start making their way toward the front entrance again, he adds, “Just out of curiosity, what is your definition of a bad person?”

Just when he hears her chuckle quietly, a bright light floods the courtyard and they freeze. Their eyes shoot up toward the castle and Malfoy’s hand instinctively finds Hermione’s arm and grips it tightly.

“What’s going on?” Hermione whispers as lights ignite inside the castle one by one, until all the windows glow like fireflies in the night.

“I think we’re about to find out,” Malfoy says as they see McGonagall rushing down the staircase toward them, her robes blowing behind her wildly.

“Thank goodness I’ve found you!” she gasps as she nears them. Her gaze lands pointedly on Malfoy’s hand wrapped around Hermione’s wrist and then shoots up at their faces.

Malfoy slowly releases his grasp on Hermione's wrist and clasps his hands behind his back, adjusting his posture. “Have you been looking for us?”

“We thought you were gone,” McGonagall says sternly.

Hermione blinks at her in confusion. “Gone where? Why would you think that, Professor?”

“Because,” McGonagall says, “a professor has gone missing.”

“Who?” Malfoy says.

“Sybill Trelawney.”

“Missing how?” Hermione says. “Maybe she’s just gone to –”

“Missing from her room after going in it. Unless she’s escaped from the window, she seems to have evaporated into thin air,” McGonagall says.

“Maybe she apparated –” Malfoy begins but Hermione cuts him off.

“No one can apparate or disapparate within Hogwarts,” she breathes. “What happened to her?”

“No one knows,” McGonagall says, “yet. Horace heard a scream coming from her room about an hour after she went to bed. By the time he rushed in, she was gone.”

Malfoy narrows his eyes. “People don’t just disappear.”

“You don’t say, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall huffs. After a moment, she says, “When you’re ready,” she glances back and forth between the two of them, “I’ll see you in the Great Hall.” She turns and hurries back up to the castle.

Once McGonagall is out of earshot, Hermione mutters, “You’d think Trelawney would have seen it coming.”

Malfoy turns his head toward her and stares incredulously. “Did you actually just say that?”


	11. Chapter 11

Inside the castle, the commotion is just settling as teachers are directing prefects to lead their students into the Great Hall in an orderly fashion. Meanwhile, a search is already underway throughout the premises. Hermione glances at Malfoy anxiously. He's looking around in search of McGonagall and, when he locates her, he looks over at Hermione and nods for her to follow him.

"How can we help?" he says when they reach her.

McGonagall seems distracted as she directs students into the Hall. "We have several teachers searching the grounds. Perhaps you could join them."

"Hermione!" a voice calls from behind them.

Ginny runs up to Hermione and tugs at her arm to pull her aside.

"Ginny, please make your way into the Great Hall," McGonagall says.

"I will in a moment, Professor," Ginny says hastily and drags Hermione after her.

"What's going on, Ginny?"

"Where have you been?" Ginny exclaims quietly, looking around apprehensively.

Hermione blinks at the girl. "Is everything alright?"

"It isn't," Ginny shakes her head, just as Malfoy strides over toward them. Ginny lifts her head to look at him in confusion. "Can I help you?" she says viciously.

Malfoy's gaze shifts toward Hermione and he says, "I'll wait for you by the doors."

Hermione nods at him and, after he walks away, she turns to Ginny with a sheepish expression.

Ginny stares at her questioningly. "What was that?" she says.

"It's nothing. I – we've been assigned to patrol the grounds," Hermione says quickly.

"Together?" Ginny says skeptically.

"Ginny, you had something you wanted to tell me."

Ginny watches her carefully and Hermione feels her cheeks heat up. "Okay," Ginny says. "Just before I left for class this morning, I couldn't find any of my textbooks. I turned my whole room inside out and finally left for class with an empty book bag. When I arrived, I opened my bag – and there they all were!"

Hermione narrows her eyes. "Did you check your book bag before you left?"

"Of course, I checked it!" Ginny huffs. "So, I took out my Alchemy book, opened to Chapter 5 – where we left off – and I found this." Ginny tentatively takes a wrinkled piece of parchment out of the pocket of her robes.

Hermione watches her, waiting. Ginny hands her the parchment, folded twice, but its corners are curled, as if it had previously been rolled. Hermione swallows and takes the paper from her, still scrutinizing Ginny's expression.

"It's yours," Ginny says finally.

Hermione's eyes widen as the realization hits her. She looks down at the paper in her hand.

"It's from Ron," Ginny says.

Hermione gasps in disbelief. "How did you get this?"

"I just told you," Ginny says. "It was in my book."

Hermione blinks at her angrily. "How would that happen?"

"I don't know!" Ginny says defensively.

Hermione's breathing quickens as she tries to find an escape route. She looks around and sees Malfoy at the doors, watching her curiously. She slips the letter into her cloak.

"Full disclosure," Ginny says. "I've read it."

"Well," Hermione says bluntly, "that makes one of us."

Ginny watches Hermione sadly. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I thought it was for me. And then, when I started, I couldn't stop."

Hermione nods. "It's okay, Ginny." She smiles, "It's not your fault."

Ginny sighs in relief.

"I've got to go," Hermione says, giving Ginny a warm hug.

"Hermione," Ginny calls as Hermione begins to walk away. Ginny's eyes flicker toward Malfoy and she says, "be careful."

Hermione smiles tightly and squeezes Ginny's hand before walking away.

…

"What was that about?" Malfoy says as they make their way outside.

"I honestly have no idea," Hermione says.

"Okay," he says, hopping down the last few steps into the courtyard. "Don't tell me." He drives his hands into the pockets of his pants and turns to face her, a crooked smile spreading on his face.

"Malfoy, focus," she says and takes her wand out. "Lumos," she mutters and the tip of her wand ignites.

Malfoy looks around at all the floodlights that are illuminating the grounds. "You really think we need that?"

"Sure do," she says, heading toward the darkness that enfolds the Forbidden Forest.

"Oh no," groans Malfoy. "You're joking me, right?" He catches up beside her, digging out his wand and sighing.

"Ginny had Ron's letter," Hermione says.

"What?" Malfoy sounds genuinely shocked. "How did she get it?"

Hermione shrugs. "It's a mystery."

Malfoy narrows his eyes. "She took it, obviously."

"Not everyone is malicious, Malfoy."

Malfoy watches her skeptically. "Not everyone is good."

Just then, an ear-splitting siren rings out across the quad.

"Ahh!" Hermione staggers and slams her palms against her ears, trying to block out the sound.

Malfoy looks back at the castle with a grimace.

A voice cuts through the alarm, "All teaching personnel and students, please report back to the Great Hall immediately."

Malfoy looks over at Hermione and shrugs. As they make their way back to the castle, Malfoy says, "Getting tired of walking back and forth."

"Please," Hermione says. "You must be thrilled to have avoided the Forbidden Forest."

"Well, twice in one night is a bit much."

…

McGonagall hurries down one of the aisles toward the host of teachers coming in from outside, just as the rest of the students take their seats in the Great Hall. Her whispers are feverish as she rushes to tell each teacher the news of what has transpired. At first, Hermione and Malfoy don't quite catch the words and only see the horrified expressions of the teachers ahead. Hermione swallows hard as McGonagall approaches them with a wearied, miserable air.

She almost whimpers it. "A student – a _child_ – has gone missing."


	12. Chapter 12

It's Dennis Creevey. Colin's younger brother, Dennis, is gone. And now McGonagall has to tell his parents – who just lost Colin a few months prior – that their youngest son is missing.

Hermione is sitting in her room, on her bed, in the middle of the night, and she doesn't even bother to lie down. She knows that she won't be able to sleep. She tucks her knees under her chin and wraps her arms around her legs. And she cries for the first time in months. For so long she's managed to keep her emotions in check. Until now.

She sighs, aggressively wiping the tears from her cheeks, and figures she might as well. Reaching for the piece of parchment lying on her bedside table, she picks up Ron's letter.

…

He finds her on the stairs leading to the owlery. Not that he was looking for her. She sits there, in near freezing temperatures, wearing a hoodie so thin, it might as well be made of tissue paper. And she's shivering.

"What in the hell, Granger?" he exclaims, tucking an envelope into the pocket of his pants. He shrugs off his cloak and throws it over her shoulders with a look of disgust on his face.

She shakes her head and her eyes fill with tears. Come to think of it, her face is already blotchy, and her nose is bright red, which probably means she's been crying for a while. Malfoy groans.

"Oh God," he says, turning away. "I'm sorry I asked."

Hermione sniffs quietly and sighs but, as soon as Malfoy looks in her direction, she breaks down again.

"What's going on, Granger?" Malfoy says in an exasperated tone.

She shakes her head but the tears keep rolling down her cheeks. "I've started now, and I can't stop!" she wails.

Malfoy watches her impatiently and rolls his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something but changes his mind when Hermione bites at her top lip and her tears trickle over her chin and drop into her lap. Her fingers scrub at her legs to soak up the moisture. She looks so miserable that he isn't eager to compound her distress. He tightens his frown and reaches out to grasp her hand in his. Hermione doesn't look up at him but doesn't pull her hand away, much to his surprise.

"Were you going to send an owl?" Hermione says finally.

Malfoy sucks in his cheeks, continuing to observe her with a sideways look. He doesn't respond.

"I was going to send an owl," she says bitterly and then bursts out into sobs once more.

Malfoy looks up behind them at the winding steps leading up to the West Tower. "You don't say," he says.

"It's just," she lets out a quavering sigh. "Poor Dennis is gone – who knows where he is and if he's even okay. And I'm a terrible person because all I can think about is Ron."

"Ron?" Malfoy narrows his eyes and scrunches up his face as if he's eaten something sour.

Hermione rips a creased piece of parchment out of her hoodie violently. "I read it," she says dully, staring at a patch of grass growing out of the stone walkway leading up to the steps beneath her feet.

"Ah," Malfoy says. He doesn't say anything else but his grip around her fingers tightens.

"Well?" Hermione says tersely. "Aren't you going to ask what it said?"

"Wasn't planning on it," he says, lazily turning his gaze onto the patch of grass that Hermione is staring at with such heated intensity.

Hermione's eyes shoot up to look at him and, even though he can feel her searing gaze on his face, he decides not to look back. Instead he unravels his fingers, releasing her hand from his, and leans his elbows on the step behind, relaxing into a more comfortable position.

"He wants to break up," she swallows, still surveying Malfoy as he finally looks in her direction.

"Didn't know you were together," Malfoy says impassively. His grey eyes land on her soberly.

Hermione clasps her hands together on her lap and wrings them violently until her fingers are twisted and their tips are turning white. "We were – and then we weren't – and well, then there was the battle – and I _loved_ him – and – after Fred – he's just not himself. It's like he wants nothing to do with me."

"He's a fucking moron," Malfoy shrugs mildly.

Hermione turns on him indignantly. "He's grieving!"

"Who isn't?" Malfoy says harshly, his eyes ablaze with the sharp reflections of the receding sunlight.

Hermione's eyes drop momentarily and when she lifts her gaze again, Malfoy has already looked away. His hair shuffles in the soft winds that tunnel through from the field in behind. As he leans forward to rest his chin on his hands, she notices that his lips are turning a pale blue, and gasps. She's still got his cloak wrapped around her shoulders while he sits in a dress shirt that's flapping wildly against his chest and filling up with cold air like a balloon in his back. She quickly slips the cloak off and tosses it at him, narrowly missing his face.

"Watch it, Granger!" he grumbles.

"You're freezing, put it on!"

"I'm fine," Malfoy shoves the cloak back into her hands and rises. "C'mon," he says, "get up." He starts out onto the quad at a gentle run.

"Where are we going?" Hermione calls as she reluctantly pulls herself up and drapes herself in his cloak once again, sighing against its warmth.

Malfoy turns to look at her as she nears him but he continues to walk backwards. "Ron – I can't help you with," he says. "But Creevey? We're going to find him."


	13. Chapter 13

A strict curfew imposed within the grounds of Hogwarts has kept the corridors empty and quiet. A heaviness has been palpable in every conversation between students and teachers alike, in the very air between them. A shadow has once again settled within the castle walls and each day that Dennis and Trelawney remain missing, the weight of it all deepens, spreads, outnumbers them.

The staffroom sounds more like a dormitory common room than a teacher lounge as hushed tones grow louder and more oppositional, and teachers vie for a chance to get in a word. Everyone has an opinion or a theory or an accusation. The robed bodies in the room form a flurry of darkness that squeezes tighter and tighter as the clamour rises, until finally, a voice from the centre of it all bellows, “Enough!”

The bodies separate quietly as McGonagall strides out from the heart of the huddle, an unreadable expression on her face. “The Ministry has sent one of it’s best Aurors to facilitate the investigation. Until she arrives and begins her interviews, please keep your postulations to yourselves.” With a huff, she spins on the spot, her robes flowing magnificently at her feet, and heads for the door.

Malfoy makes his way from the crowd to the armchair by the fire, a scowl distorting his features. Hermione, who’s been observing from the sidelines, follows him to the hearth and sits in the second armchair, eyeing him curiously.

For Hermione, much as she hates to admit it, the mystery is a welcome distraction. Yes, it’s tragic – quite disconcerting. No, her world is not the would-be haven promised after the war. Yes, this year is about one incident away from being the least uneventful year she’s yet to experience. No, she’d rather not align with Malfoy to facilitate the investigation, but maybe – just maybe – the ends justify the means.

Two other teachers stroll around the end table to stand before the fireplace. One of them, a young witch with a thoughtful expression and intelligent eyes, folds her arms.

“I agree with you, Draco,” she says.

Malfoy slowly tears his gaze away from the flames behind her and looks up.

“The curfew won’t impede the perpetrator,” she continues, her wide, blue eyes fixed on him unblinkingly. “The others were taken right from their rooms.”

“Heightened security protocols must be put in place,” her companion chimes in. An older wizard – short, plump, with a mouth that is curved upward in a static smile.

Malfoy nods.

The witch resumes, “Teachers must be stationed within the dormitories at all times to protect the students.”

“I agree,” Malfoy says.

Hermione furrows her brows. “That’s not possible,” she says. “Professors aren’t allowed in the dormitories.”

The witch turns to Hermione, her piercing gaze landing squarely on Hermione’s ratty bookbag. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” she smiles, extending a pale hand out toward her.

Hermione shakes the witch’s hand firmly, feeling the bones of her thin fingers against her palm. “Hermione,” she says.

“Margot,” the witch retracts her hand and turns to Malfoy, still smiling broadly.

“Technically,” Malfoy says, as Margot watches him, “teachers _could_ be allowed entry into the dormitories – by McGonagall.”

Margot’s smile widens. “I knew we were on the same page.”

Hermione grimaces in disgust as Malfoy smirks at Margot and she pats him gently on the shoulder. Her colleague strides over to Hermione and throws a fleshy hand in her face. “And I’m Wilbert,” he says.

Hermione gives him a tight smile.

…

“D’you honestly believe that curfew should be lifted?” Hermione muses as she and Malfoy make their way toward the teachers’ quarters after dinner.

Malfoy shrugs. “What good is it doing?”

“Well,” Hermione says emphatically. “Nobody else has gone missing since it’s been in place.”

“There’s no way of telling if that’s got anything to do with the curfew. Besides, Creevey and Trelawney were taken from their _rooms_.”

Hermione freezes. Malfoy, who had continued walking, turns his head toward her and cocks an eyebrow. He doubles back. “You alright?”

“We have to draw it out,” she breathes.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s _hiding_ , Malfoy,” she says. “We have to bait it.”

Malfoy scratches the back of his head with an unconvinced expression. “We don’t know what it wants.”

Hermione nods. “What was special about the night they were taken?”

Malfoy watches her intently as her eyes look past him. She’s staring out into space, and he could almost see the whirlwind of deliberation that’s taking place in her brain.

“Were there any common variables between that night and the night you saw the figure from the owlery?” he says.

“That’s right!” she says. “There were two nights!”

“That we know of,” Malfoy says, but his face is alight with exhilaration now that he’s contributed to the discussion.

Hermione thinks back to the night she ran into Malfoy on her way down toward the courtyard. Back to the first instance of Malfoy’s uncharacteristic pleasantness. Back to how he made her laugh and how his blond hair glistened in the moonlight as the wind ruffled it atop his head. He had almost made her forget about Ron that night.

She thinks back to the second night. The night when she’d followed the hooded figure into the forest. The night it glided along the water as if on skates, the pond – like a mirror – reflecting the glowing moon. The night that Malfoy had asked her why she’d confided in him. The night that – wait –

“The moon!” Hermione exclaims.

Malfoy raises his eyebrows.

“Unbelievable! How could I not have realized it?”

“Care to elaborate?” Malfoy drawls, trying to sound bored but looking quite enthused.

“It was a full moon – both nights!”

“Are you saying this is the work of a werewolf?” Malfoy scoffs.

Hermione shoots him a noxious look. “Werewolves aren’t the only creatures governed by the tides.”

…

Hermione’s revelation causes a stir within the investigation. When McGonagall learns of the connection, she decides to follow Hermione’s advice by ensuring that no one is alone in their dormitories on the night of the next full moon. Thus, the Winter Solstice of 1999 – the first occurrence of the full moon on the longest night of the year in nineteen years – is to be the night of the Midwinter Ball.

When the Auror arrives at Hogwarts from the Ministry of Magic, she is horrified by this proposal. She rails on McGonagall, who simply assures her that teachers are to be stationed about the Great Hall to ensure the safety of all students. She also notes, with a small smile, that preparations are already underway and that, to now take away this highpoint in the students’ lives, would be a dreadful blow to morale.

…

“Can you be quiet?” Hermione huffs as Malfoy flips through the pages of a large tome.

He lifts his gaze to look at her from across the table. Behind him, the slim body of Madam Pince shuffles between the stacks, waving her wand as books float behind her. The sun is filtering through the windows behind the shelves and book dust is dancing in the streaks of light. “I wasn’t talking,” Malfoy says.

“Shh!” An abrupt shush tears through the air from Madam Pince’s direction.

“You’re turning your pages so loudly,” Hermione whispers feverishly.

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “Do you want my help or not?”

“Not if you can’t be quiet,” Hermione raises her eyebrows while her eyes lower back to her own reading material.

Malfoy leans back in his seat to check the whereabouts of Madam Pince and, once he’s convinced she’s out of earshot, he leans forward and says, “I found something.” There’s a smirk on his face that says he’s terribly proud of himself. Even his eyes look like they’re smiling. Hermione leans in closer, eager to hear what he has to say. She pauses when she sees his expression as her face nears his. His grin falters briefly and he jerks away slightly, almost imperceptibly.

She notices, at this close distance, that he’s looking better these days. The darkness that pooled beneath his eyes has all but evaporated. The hollows of his cheeks have nearly filled. The pallor of his skin no longer looks so sick. And his eyes – with their cold, familiar grey – are more alive than she’s ever seen them.

Her breath hitches as she realizes that she’s obviously leaned too close. It seems intrusive – far too intimate. And yet, apart from the initial jolt, Malfoy isn’t moving away. His smile is gone now and he watches her silently, as if he’s afraid to move a muscle. She tries to regulate her breathing but it quickens despite her efforts. Her attempts to suppress it only bring about deeper, more spastic sighs. A rush of feeling in her chest makes her feel as though she’s free-falling from the tallest of towers and she realizes with terror what it means. She’s forgotten why she ever came so close to begin with when Malfoy clears his throat and sits back up – leans back in his chair. Hermione straightens her back against her seat and looks down at the polished wooden table.

After a resonating silence, she looks back up at him. He’s still watching her but his expression seems almost puzzled. “What,” she says finally and her voice cracks. She shuts her eyes as her face flushes. She lets out an irritated sigh and starts again. “What did you find?”

When she opens her eyes, Malfoy is no longer sitting in front of her. He’s at her side, grabbing her arm and yanking her out of her seat. He pulls her up to his chest and, just as she’s about to look up into his eyes, he shoves her sideways and dives after her. A moment later, Hermione hears a deafening crash behind them. She whirls her head around to see a book stack fallen over onto the table at which they were just sitting, and dust clouds swirling in the sunbeams. A pile of books is forming at their feet as the volumes continue to tumble out of the toppled stack.

Footsteps skitter behind the bookcase and they see the tip of Madam Pince’s hat. “I said be _quiet_!”


	14. Chapter 14

“What in the world just happened?” Hermione begins to rise, brushing off dust from her pants. She stares at the gigantic case that’s just crushed the table. Shards of wood stick out from underneath the stack, scratching the books as they fall to the ground. Hermione cringes as their pages shuffle, crumple, and rip.

“Really,” Madam Pince gripes as she rounds the corner, “You lot are worse than the students!” She sizes up the destruction created by the fallen bookcase and shakes her head haughtily.

“Irma, it wasn’t us,” Hermione begins but Malfoy lays a hand on her arm and steps forward.

“We’ll clean it up, Irma,” he says.

“You certainly will,” Madam Pince says aggressively and turns on her heel to leave. “I want every book back in its place!”

Hermione blinks at her receding figure indignantly. “She can’t just tell us what to –”

“Shh,” Malfoy’s grip on Hermione’s arm tightens.

“Ow, Malfoy,” Hermione winces and wrenches her arm out of his grasp. “Watch it!”

“Sorry,” he whispers. But he’s not looking at her when she shoots him a loathsome glare. “It’s your turn to be quiet, Granger.”

“Honestly, Malfoy,” she says, quieter now. “What is going on?”

“It’s what I was trying to tell you,” Malfoy hisses, and steps closer to her. She feels the tips of his fingers graze her back and she tenses as her eyes widen and a shock of current runs through her. “We have to go,” he murmurs somewhere far too close to her ear and his fingers contract on her back, scrunching the material of her shirt into his fist and pulling her after him.

She follows mutely, still staring at the bookcase, as Malfoy waves his wand to raise it back up. The splayed volumes scattering the floor begin to lift just as the stack steadies itself upright, their bindings flapping noisily as they collide in the disorder. The older tomes – the ones which already know their place – move quicker to their destinations, sliding one after another back onto the shelves. Malfoy and Hermione step over the threshold, out of the library, just as the last of the books land safely back in their places.

“Run,” Malfoy mutters in a hushed, dangerous tone. Without even looking at him, Hermione starts to sprint down the hallway with Malfoy on her heels. They round the corner and Malfoy pulls her sideways up a staircase to the second floor. He stops at the top of the landing and Hermione gasps, trying to catch her breath.

Malfoy looks up at her grimly from underneath his light eyebrows. His hair is dishevelled but, Hermione realizes whilst grappling with a sense of repulsion in the pit of her stomach, it looks better this way. His eyes have a darkness in them, somewhere underneath the cool grey mask. And, in the dimness of the flickering torches lining the walls, he looks almost menacing.

“Spit it out, Malfoy,” she says irritably. “What were we running from?”

Malfoy’s face changes – contorts. His eyes narrow, then widen, then shut altogether. His mouth tightens and he lets out a troubled, trembling breath. “It’s him,” he says.

“Him who?” Hermione blinks, her heart skipping a beat.

_Him_ him,” Malfoy opens his eyes.

She recognizes with a sinking feeling what she sees in them. Absolute ultimate _fear_. She shakes her head. “He’s gone,” she says.

Malfoy keeps staring at her until all her skin is covered in goose pimples.

“You’re being paranoid,” she says.

“He’s _back_ , Granger.”

“No, he’s not!” Hermione shouts. “You’re wrong!” Because she needs him to be wrong.

“He’s back,” Malfoy repeats. “And he’s taunting me.”

Hermione’s breathing snags on the intake. “What d’you mean, he’s _taunting_ you?”

Malfoy’s mouth twists and he looks as though he’s about to cry. He shakes his shakes head and turns his back to her when it’s clear that he can’t say another word.

“Malfoy!” Hermione cries, her body trembling wildly. Her teeth begin to chatter even though it’s not the least bit drafty on the landing. “What,” she says loudly, forcefully, willing him to speak, “do,” she continues bravely, “you,” her voice begins to quiver – falter – fail her, “mean,” she finishes in a whisper.

Malfoy steadies himself against the archway connecting the staircase to the second floor corridor. His palm slides down the stonework and he leans into it with his shoulder. With his right hand, he reaches into the pocket of his pants and pulls out a yellowed parchment. “I’ve been getting owls,” he says, holding it out to her without looking up.

Hermione reaches out for the scroll tentatively. Carefully, she unrolls it and looks down at the handwritten message.

_Irrelevant, disheartening, ever worthless you,_  
_Misery loves company, your letters – they do too._  
_Small and insignificant, is this little boy,_  
_How lucky there are two of you – for me to destroy._

“T-two of you?” Hermione stutters.

Malfoy lifts his gaze to look at her but she can’t read his expression.

She gulps. “Does he mean us?” she says quietly. “You and I?”

Malfoy smirks slightly and drops his gaze. “Thankfully, no.”

Hermione furrows her eyebrows and says, “Then who?”

“Me,” Malfoy says, “and me.”

Hermione blinks at him. “I beg your pardon?”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks so much for reading this far and for all your lovely comments and messages - keep 'em coming because I love hearing from all of you! I'm really excited about the next few chapters and I hope you enjoy them. I know I'm not the chattiest author and I tend to keep to myself, but just wanted to let everyone know how much I appreciate your support. Much love and thanks again!

But she never does find out what he means because, at that moment, Margot appears in the corridor behind Malfoy, having just exited the Defence Against the Dark Arts office. When she sees Malfoy and Hermione on the landing, she smiles brightly and heads toward them, hastening her pace.

"Draco, I was just looking for you," she says in her lively voice. She strolls over and waves meekly at Hermione before turning to Draco and beaming.

Hermione's eyes slide from Margot to Malfoy, who is still watching her gravely. After a few more seconds of silence, during which Margot's bright face turns from Malfoy to Hermione and back again, and her smile slightly falters, Malfoy blinks up at her slowly and says, "Lovely to see you, Margot."

Margot's lips soften and she laughs. "I don't know if you've heard," Margot says, "but the Ministry is set to send a whole flock of Aurors for the night of the ball. So, thankfully," she chuckles, "this means that the bulk of safeguarding the students will fall squarely on their shoulders. What a weight off, am I right?" Margot glances at Hermione for approval.

Hermione shrugs, "I suppose."

"Well," Margot says, turning her attention back to Malfoy, "this leaves more opportunity for us to have a wonderful evening." She nudges Malfoy playfully on the shoulder with a fragile fist.

Hermione rolls her eyes and Malfoy bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at Hermione's reaction. "There is a predator on the loose," Hermione grumbles. "It'll hardly be a 'wonderful evening'."

Margot shrugs. "I'm sure the Ministry will catch the culprit right quick and we can all have a downright fantastic time."

"You have quite a lot of faith in the Ministry," Hermione mutters.

Margot rounds on her. "Well," she says, the high-pitched tone of her voice rising even more in irritation, "I'm just trying to be optimistic. You might consider it, yourself, for a change."

Hermione glares at Margot. "You know what?" Hermione says, looking back at Malfoy. "I've just remembered I've got somewhere to be." She blows past them into the corridor and rushes for the tapestry that hangs along the wall and obscures the second staircase from view. The suit of armour to her left clanks as she rages past and the portrait of Helena Ravenclaw at the end of the hall raises her eyebrows at Hermione's behaviour. Hermione whips out her wand and points it to the tapestry as she walks. It flies aside just as she's about to ram it and she bolts through the opening and tears down the narrow stairs toward the ground floor.

She knows about the Ministry's plan to bring on more Aurors – got an owl just that morning from Harry that both he and Ron, who are currently completing their training, will be attending the ball. She'd put the thought on hold – had ignored its implications. But now, she has nothing but time to ruminate over the significance of her reunion with Ron. Just the thought brings her nearly to a halt. She slows her pace and her eyes fill with tears as she chews on her cheeks to fight back the waterworks. She hasn't seen him since that day, the day that was meant to be the end of it all. The words from his letter will be forever seared in her memory, the blotches from his ink chaotically splattering the page.

_We can't be, Hermione. Because we never were._

Never were. How _could_ he?

…

Hermione glides down the corridor toward the Great Hall, the blush tulle of her gown fluttering behind her. Her legs peak out through the high slit of the skirt as she picks up her pace. The clanging of her heels against the stone floor reverberates through the empty stretch of space as she hurries to her destination. But just when she's about to enter, she stops, blinking up at the door before her. She hesitates – considers running back to her quarters and slipping into something less extravagant. She looks down and uneasily takes in the deep cut of her dress, the sparkling crystals that dust the entire top. She sucks in a breath and her skirt, which starts high on the waist, sways in response. No, she selected this dress specifically for this occasion. She travelled to London in search of a gown that would shock Ron out of his trance.

Hermione places a palm on the door to the Great Hall when she feels a warm hand skim the skin on her bare back and rest momentarily against the stones of her gown. She turns her head and sees Malfoy's arm drop to his side. He clears his throat, staring at the closed doors before them, and clasps his hands behind his back, straightening his posture. He's ludicrously tall when he's standing so close. His presence sends a tremor through to her core and she suddenly realizes how cold the corridor is and how much she could use a shawl to cover her exposed skin.

"Shall we?" Malfoy says, looking down at her briefly.

Hermione wonders if he's even noticed the way her hair is clipped above her neck or how she's dusted a dark shadow over her eyelids. Wonders if he's spotted the crystal earrings that dangle all the way to down to the straps of her dress. And the dress – does he recognize how awkward she feels wrapped in chiffon and tulle? Has he seen any of it? And then she remembers – remembers that it doesn't matter. The gown, the hair, the shimmer on her cheeks – it's all for Ron. She looks up at Malfoy again – observes that he's dressed all in black, down to the belt on his trousers and the muted leather of his pointed shoes. He seems quite relaxed for a guy whom she last saw on the verge of tears and she's resisting the impulse to drag him away from it all to continue their conversation from the other day. But alas, her curiosity will have to wait.

She lets out a wary sigh and says, "We shall."

Malfoy pushes on the door and turns to her as he enters the Great Hall, a small but noteworthy smile gracing his face. "Granger," he says, "you look good."

Hermione's face softens as she glances at him, tearing her gaze away from the glittering room behind the doors. The worrying crease between her eyebrows vanishes and the right side of her mouth quirks upward.

They pause in the doorway and, when Hermione finally lowers her gaze, Malfoy says, "Save me a dance, will you?"

Hermione looks up at him and scoffs. "Right," she says and walks past him through the doors and into the Great Hall. She gasps. Because the room is glowing. The beauty of the Hall takes her breath away time and again. This time, the ceiling is alight with shimmering snowflakes that are forever dropping but never landing. Mistletoes hang suspended in midair. The floating candles are decorated with tinsel that sparkles under their warm, flickering glow. A majestic Christmas tree stands at the end of the room, fluffy garlands adorning its branches. The Great Hall looks – well, it looks magical.

She feels Malfoy step forward to stand by her side at the entrance, seemingly admiring the marvels of the Great Hall, himself. His hand brushes hers and, with a jolt, she jerks it away. Her heart starts to pound against her ribcage louder than the music is playing and she swallows to drown out the thumping in her ears.

"Hermione!" Hermione turns her head toward the sound, as her heart continues to drum anxiously.

"Harry!" She breathes and swallows again.

Harry comes at them at an almost run and throws his arms around Hermione. "It's so good to see you, Hermione!" He mutters into her neck as he continues to hug her.

Over his shoulder, Hermione spots the thing that she's been looking for since she walked in. He's wearing a white shirt and a purple suit jacket and sheepish grin, and he's staring right at her. He's standing at the seafood bar to the right, a plate full of shrimp in his hands. His red hair is almost glowing against the pale silver of the décor around him.

Hermione slowly unfurls herself from Harry and just stands there, watching him. Ron sighs heavily – she could see even from this distance – before setting down his plate. He starts to walk toward them – toward her. And she doesn't know if she could stand it.

Beside her, Malfoy seems to tense, flexing his hand, curling it into a fist and then shaking out his fingers. But she's only barely paying attention, doesn't know why she's registered this action at all.

Ron's pace quickens and Hermione whimpers quietly, despite herself, but stays rooted to the spot. Malfoy lets out an exasperated sigh and Hermione fights the urge to smack his arm.

Ron stops a few steps away from her, afraid to come any closer. His eyes are unsettled – troubled – far away – as if he's battling with himself. "Hermione," he croaks, barely above a whisper.

Hermione blinks back her tears. She wants more than anything to close the gap between them, to run at him with her arms wide open, to lose herself in the warmth of his embrace. But she stands her ground, motionless, as the storm rages within her.

"Hermione," he says again, taking a step forward.

Hermione lets out a trembling sigh. Malfoy turns his head to look at her, but she doesn't see him.

"Hermione," Ron takes a few more steps until he's standing right before her.

"Ron," Hermione chokes out through the tears.

Ron takes another few moments, at least, before he finally wraps his arms around her and clutches her tightly to his chest.

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione cries against his shoulder.

Ron rests his cheek on top of her head and stares unblinkingly at the floor. He closes his eyes and sighs. Feeling her shiver against him, he grips her tighter. "I'm sorry," he says, opening his eyes. He steps away then, holding her face in his hands, watching her sobbing before him. "I'm sorry," he repeats. She smiles through her tears. He glances past her, unable to look her in the eye for long, and sees Malfoy – Malfoy just standing there!

Ron releases Hermione, blinking as if trying to dispel an illusion. Malfoy is shaking his head, a wry expression on his face. His cold, grey eyes hold Ron's gaze for a moment, before Malfoy finally says, "Should we move this party away from the entrance? Seems inconsiderate to block the doorway."

Ron narrows his eyes, "What's he doing here?"

Hermione looks at Malfoy and back at Ron. "I told you that he teaches here, Ron," she says. "In my letter. Remember?"

"Sure," Ron says, "but what is he doing _here_ , with you?"

Hermione lets out a nervous laugh. "He's not _with_ me, Ron." She looks over at Malfoy as if she's looking for affirmation. Her expression is saying, _Tell him_. But Malfoy just slips his hands into his pockets and smiles at Ron.

"How've you been, Weasley?" Malfoy says. He turns to Harry, "Potter?"


	16. Chapter 16

Hermione winds up at the bar, having been subtly ushered in that direction by Ron and Harry. She could use a drink anyhow. Ron keeps his eyebrows knotted, muttering that he needs a shot or five. Harry shoots Hermione several restrained but persistent glances until she finally shakes her head to deflect his concerned scrutiny. She looks over her shoulder to see Margot scampering across the floor toward a lonely Malfoy. Hermione sighs in frustration when she realizes that this bothers her. She turns her attention to Ron who's already holding up a hand trying to wave down a house-elf.

"How are you?" she says. "How've you been?"

Ron shrugs. "Ogden's Old, please. Make that two," he says when the house-elf appears before them. He turns to Hermione and Harry, "What're you having?"

Hermione peeks at Harry anxiously but Harry just purses his lips and looks away. "I'm fine, thanks," he says. Then adds, "We're on duty, Ron. Don't forget."

Ron ignores his comment and turns to face Hermione, waiting for a response. Hermione quickly appraises the house-elf's working conditions before placing her order. There are several of them tending the bar, most are mixing vibrant liquids that are producing noxious fumes. Others are tidying the area, scrubbing goblets at a long sink in behind, stacking fresh bottles on shelves, and disposing of empty ones with a snap of their fingers. "A glass of Elderflower, if you will," she says to the elf finally.

"No Elderflower, miss, I apologize," the house-elf says humbly. "But we do have Elf-made, which is a fine red."

"Sure," Hermione smiles tightly and looks over at Ron. Delicately, she clears her throat and says, "Ron." When she hears him sigh, she can't help her aggravation, and continues forcefully, "I need to know that you're okay."

"I'm fine, Hermione!" Ron explodes. "Lay off, will you?"

Hermione starts at his sudden outburst. Harry shakes his head and throws Ron a disconcerted glance. He doesn't say anything though, and his gaze slowly falls to Hermione. He looks worried but not entirely surprised. Over Harry's shoulder, Hermione can see that Malfoy has looked up from his conversation. He surveys them from a distance and, somehow, she can see him balling up his fists in the pockets of his trousers. She exhales in exasperation. Why is she looking at Malfoy's pants of all things? Why is he looking at her? Why is she looking at _him_?

She grits her teeth and turns to Ron. "I will not _lay off_ ," she says viciously. "I know that you're hurting. I can see that you're in pain. But that does not excuse your behaviour. Did you not just apologize?"

Ron puffs out his cheeks and lets out a long breath. The house-elf returns with their drinks suspended in midair. He guides the goblets with his hand until they've made contact with the surface of the marble countertop.

"Thank you," Hermione says politely, then – "What was the point of saying you're sorry if you're just going to be an ass again?" she rounds on Ron, whispering feverishly.

"Hermione," he says, "I apologized for hurting you." His tired eyes shoot up at her. He looks simultaneously heartbroken and irritated. "But I'm going to keep hurting you. Haven't you figured that out yet?" His eyes beginning to sparkle, he sets his jaw and turns away. He bangs a fist against the bar and the liquid in their drinks ripples. And then he walks away, grabbing his two firewhiskeys as he goes.

Hermione looks over at Harry, her insides writhing. "Wha –" she begins, but the words fail her.

"He'll come around, Hermione," Harry says patiently. "I promise." He lays a heavy arm over her shoulders and she sighs, feeling the turmoil lift from within her. Harry has that kind of calming – damn near tranquilizing – effect. He's right, of course. Ron will come around. "Now what's this I hear about yet another beast terrorizing Hogwarts? The nerve!" he exclaims.

She blinks back her tears and laughs, sniffling. "Thanks, Harry," she says.

"C'mon, Hermione," Harry presses her against his chest. "We're going to have a wonderful night."

Hermione lets out a sneer. "People need to stop saying that," she blatantly eyes Margot, who's taken Malfoy out onto the dance floor. She can see the top of his blond head above everyone else's and it's quickly becoming the focal point of her evening.

"What's the deal with you guys?" Harry says.

"Who?" Hermione responds too quickly. She knows who he means.

"You and Malfoy."

Hermione shrugs and shimmies out of Harry's embrace. "Nothing's going on."

"Ginny said she's been seeing you with him," Harry says quietly – carefully.

Hermione scoffs, "Is that why Ron's so angry?"

Harry narrows his eyes. "I don't think Ron knows."

"Oh," Hermione nods, her eyes still resting on Margot and Malfoy. She takes a sip of her wine.

Harry hesitates, "Is there something to know?"

"No!" she says, somewhat more forcefully than she intends.

Harry looks over at Malfoy, dancing with Margot, and bites his lip.

…

Ron is downing one Ogden's Old after another. Hermione is observing him from a distance and frowning. A deep sorrow grips at her seeing him suffer like this. She searches for Harry and Ginny in the crowd of dancing bodies. She needs to know if this is a common occurrence, or if it's her presence that's driving him to drink his wits out. She cranes her neck and twists her body, and her gaze lands on Malfoy's face. She starts and springs back because he's so awfully close.

"Enjoying your evening?" he says dryly.

"Not as much as you are," she retorts, her eyes darting to the bar where Margot is gathering a couple of cocktails.

Malfoy supresses a smile.

Hermione scowls when she sees Margot snap her fingers to get a house-elf's attention. "Is she, at least, interesting to talk to?" Hermione says.

"I'm not really into talking," Malfoy winks.

Hermione groans and rolls her eyes, "You're despicable."

Malfoy smirks when he sees her smile – when the despair visibly evaporates from her face.

Hermione sighs and takes in the evening. The students dancing, the teachers laughing, the band at the centre of the room performing. The magnificence of the Midwinter Ball overwhelms her, and she feels – happy. She smiles at Malfoy. Really smiles.

The singer at the center of the stage chuckles as another song comes to an end and the students cheer. His band mates are grinning at the crowd. He points his wand to his throat and mutters something that echoes throughout the hall. The girls screech and hundreds of hands shoot toward the stage.

A slow melody starts to ring out and Malfoy's eyes rest on her face for a fraction longer than usual. Hermione loses her train of thought – the bodies swirling around them slide out of focus, fade to a sort of nonexistence. He holds out his hand, placing the other behind his back. His palm, smooth and pale, silver rings glinting on each of his fingers, opens up, beckons her to take it.

"Might as well," he says.

Hermione's heart begins to thump violently, as if on a mission to break out of her chest. The beating reaches her temples, dizzying her – an unambiguous warning – before she even touches his hand. Her smile falls as she focuses all of her energy on retaining consciousness. She is not okay.

But, even as her insides shift with the onslaught of vertigo – sweet, wonderful, wholesome vertigo – she can't very well refuse. How would that look? Hermione doesn't shy away from danger. She braces for the impact of their inevitable contact, defiantly lifting her hand and placing it in his palm. The warmth of his touch is strangely familiar and comforting and, when he pulls her closer, something inside her chest flips, sends her reeling, falling, even though they haven't even started to move. It's like she's spinning while the rest of the room stands still. Like she's floating as the world drops out from under her feet.

Malfoy's mask gives way to an expression she's never seen him reveal before – wonder. He watches her so intently that she forgets they exist within the context of the ball. That they've likely created a scene that stuns their observers. They move across the floor slowly at first, cautiously. Gradually, their strides widen, their pace quickens, and soon they are spinning so wildly that the room becomes a blur. She can feel the velocity pulling them closer together, binding them against all her efforts to impede its power. Malfoy's face is just above hers, his eyes locked on hers even now, while the rest of everything is somewhere else. As the music dies down, their dancing slows, their bodies separate reluctantly, like magnets being forced apart. As they step away from each other, Malfoy continues to study her face in mild – but meaningful – bewilderment.

"Hey!" Hermione hears a roar coming their way from somewhere seemingly far away, but she is too shellshocked to register it.

The next moment, Ron is charging them – tearing between them. Hermione is thrown sideways by the blow, but she manages to steady her footing – not an easy feat in five-inch heels. She straightens herself just as Ron takes hold of Malfoy by the shirt. Harry is not far behind, clutching Ron by the shoulder pads of his suit jacket and trying to pry him off of Malfoy. Ginny runs up behind him in dismay. She shoots Hermione a distraught look.

"Are you okay?" Ginny says quickly. But Hermione is too dazed to respond. She stares in panic at the calamity about to unfold.

Around them, students are gathered and watching as the boy who lived fights fruitlessly against the surge of anger that erupts out of Ron. A crowd forms around them. Hermione swears she could hear the beginnings of a _"Fight! Fight!"_ chant from behind her.

"Ron!" Harry yells. "Ron, stop!"

Malfoy's stoic face has never bothered Hermione more. He just stands there, looking at Ron, as if he's a disinterested bystander watching the action from the sidelines. Hermione senses a flood of nausea assail the pit of her stomach. Malfoy had seen this coming. Malfoy had been _riling_ him. Hermione glares at him in disgust and reaches around Harry to grab Ron's arm.

"Come on, Ron," she says tersely. "Let's go."

"What are you doing dancing with my girl?" Ron shakes Hermione off, growling at Malfoy. Harry continues to pull ferociously at Ron's jacket to no avail. He blinks at Hermione in alarm – looks utterly astonished at Ron's apparent strength.

"Not your girl, last I checked," Malfoy says impassively.

Hermione rolls her eyes, "Not anybody's girl."

Harry watches her with an apologetic look as he tries to squeeze his way in between Ron and Malfoy. Ron thrusts him aside.

"Did you really think," Malfoy spits out, bile suddenly swimming in the greys of his eyes, "that nobody would swoop in and take her while you were off having yourself a pity party?"

"Again," Hermione chides, "not a _thing_ to be _taken_."

"Look at her!" Malfoy extends his arm out to gesture at Hermione. She feels a pang in her gut at the fervour in his words but tries to quelch it before she can lose herself again. The malice in his tone plays a worthy adversary to the turbulence in his eyes. He can't seem to decide which angle to come from and all of his façades are spilling out at once. Malfoy finally shakes his head at Ron, "You've already lost."

Hermione glowers at them. " _Not a game_."

Ron looks rattled. "You're delusional."

"Let it go, Ron," Hermione urges, pulling at his arm. "He's not worth it." Ron whips around, ripping his arm out of her grasp, and walks off. She trails after him without giving Malfoy the satisfaction of a backwards glance.

"You weren't worth it, Granger," Malfoy calls behind them, "until he saw you with someone else."

Hermione spins around and starts for Malfoy. "How _dare_ you –" But Harry and Ginny grab her arms and push her in the other direction. The only thing that stops her, though, is that Malfoy is already gone – his beacon of a head winding through the crowd toward the doors.

"Watch them," Harry says to Ginny rigidly. Ginny nods and looks up at Hermione tensely. Ron has already sulked off in the other direction.

…

"Malfoy!" Harry slams through the front doors in Malfoy's wake. The quad is empty as all students and personnel were instructed to remain in the Great Hall for the duration of the evening.

Malfoy is already at the bottom of the stairs and he skips the last few in his attempt to make a faster getaway. His shadow stretches menacingly as he rounds the corner and disappears from view.

"Malfoy!" Harry roars as he runs down the stairs, his long hair whipping in the high winds. He feels the deep, dull ache of the winter's chill in his limbs, but he ignores it, running after Malfoy. When he reaches him in the courtyard and Malfoy doesn't respond, Harry says, "You're into her, aren't you?"

"Piss off, Potter!" Malfoy whirls his head around violently, a savage grimace on his face.

"Oh, bloody hell, Malfoy," Harry says grudgingly, bringing his hand to his head. He watches as Malfoy glowers at him in silence. But Malfoy has nothing to say. Harry shakes his head. "You've got it bad."

"You've lost it, you have," Malfoy raises his index finger at Harry in warning, all the while backing away until the shadows have all but consumed his face.

"I've lost it?" Harry exclaims. "You're in love with her!"

"Shut –" Malfoy barks and, in seconds, he's closed the two-meter gap between them and is grabbing Harry's shirt collar, dragging him up. He continues in a barely audible hiss. "Shut. Your. Mouth." His eyes are dangerously dark under the shadows of his golden eyebrows. Then he shoves Harry, sending him stumbling backward. "You don't know what you're talking about," he says viciously.

Harry catches his balance and stares at Malfoy angrily. "Stay the fuck away from her," he huffs, rotating his shoulder to adjust the jacket that's slipped down his arm during the altercation.

Malfoy twists his mouth in disgust. "With pleasure," he says.


	17. Chapter 17

“Tell me again why you felt the need to tear my heart out and trample it under the soles of Draco Malfoy’s shoes,” Ron grumbles bitterly, but he’s already settled down considerably in the last half an hour. He feeds his fingers through a jumble of dishevelled hair and heaves a dramatic sigh, leaning his head on his hand.

He and Hermione are sitting at the foot of the stairs outside the Great Hall while she tries tirelessly to lift his spirits. Harry stands by the balustrade, having been assigned guard duty at the doors. His dark eyes rest on Hermione in a sort of troubled way, as if he’s searching her face for answers. Ginny is tucked under his arm, watching over Ron and Hermione with a concerned expression. The paintings on the wall behind their heads also seem to be tuned in to the conversation.

Hermione sucks in her bottom lip anxiously and clasps her hands in her lap. She’s not looking at Ron when she repeats herself for about the tenth time. “I needed his help, Ron.”

Ron shakes his head but says nothing. He’s slumped over with his elbows resting on his knees. He slides his hand slowly over his face, a despairing groan escaping his mouth.

Hermione sighs as she senses her emotions boil up inside her, her agitation rising slowly to the surface. Letting out a breath, she stops the anger from bubbling over – a slight tip of the lid to release the steam. She inhales, letting her fury simmer. She purses her lips and finally says, “You broke up with _me_ , Ron.”

Ron looks up at her and knits his ginger eyebrows together. “Not so you could shag Malfoy, Hermione.”

“Oh, for goodness sake, we’re not _shagging_ , Ron,” she exclaims. “Gross,” she turns away, blushing.

“Not yet, maybe,” Ron mutters grudgingly.

“Enough, Ron!” Hermione says. Her tone is so forceful that Harry blinks at her and raises his eyebrows. Ginny starts and glances between Hermione and Ron worriedly. “I’ll admit,” Hermione says, “that we’ve been spending some time together –” she pauses momentarily while Ron cringes at her, “because we’re trying to figure out what on earth is happening at Hogwarts. But that’s the extent of it.”

“Yes, but why _him_ , Hermione?” Harry pipes in. Ron holds up his hand at Harry’s words, indicating that he wholeheartedly agrees with his sentiment.

“Why _not_ him, Harry?” Hermione snaps at him.

“I can think of a few reasons,” Ron mumbles.

Just then, an ashen-faced McGonagall rushes out of the doors from the Great Hall, twisting her body this way and that, as if searching for something. Her dress robes ruffle about her feet chaotically as she marches down the corridor and back again.

“Have you seen her? Hmm? Potter? Weasley?” she says, her voice stern but laced with distress, as she makes her way back toward them.

Hermione rises from the bottom step. “Who, Professor?” she says.

“Then you haven’t,” McGonagall sighs. “Margot,” she says. “She was meant to do a head count at midnight, but I can’t find her anywhere.”

“Can’t you ask someone else to do the head count?” Ron says.

Hermione shoots him a disdainful look. “It’s not about the head count, Ron.”

“Right,” Ron nods when it finally dawns on him. “You think she’s missing. Like the others.”

McGonagall gives Ron a pointed look when a loud scrape reverberates through the corridor as the main door is flung open. A cool gust of wind sends a tremor down Hermione’s spine. The skirt of her dress picks up and flutters wildly behind her, exposing the gooseflesh on her thighs. Ron looks down at her legs with his eyebrows raised. The rest of them look at the door.

As the swirling snowflakes settle, a dark figure steps into the light. It’s Malfoy.

Hermione rolls her eyes and lets out a breath, matting down the mound of tulle that’s tangled on itself around her legs.

“Where have you been, Mr. Malfoy?” McGonagall says tersely.

“Out,” he says.

McGonagall gazes at him coolly for a few moments and then turns to head back into the Great Hall with a _Humph!_

Hermione narrows her eyes at Malfoy for inciting such a strange reaction out of McGonagall, who did not scorn him for disobeying direct orders, did not question his actions, did not even seem overly surprised by his behaviour. Malfoy gives Hermione a seething glance before blowing past the four of them up the stairs.

“You’re supposed to stay in the Hall!” Hermione calls up after Malfoy. But he doesn’t turn around.

“Hang on a minute,” Harry says, staring up to the top of the staircase where Malfoy’s just disappeared behind a corner. “Malfoy was gone when that professor disappeared just now.”

“Margot,” Hermione says.

“Right, Margot,” Harry says.

Hermione furrows her eyebrows at Harry. “What are you getting at, Harry?”

“Well,” Harry says, “where was he for the past half an hour?”

Hermione blinks at him. “You’re not suggesting –”

“I think I am,” Harry says.

Ron’s eyes widen and he turns to Hermione. “That’s right!” he exclaims. “He’s playing you, Hermione! It’s Malfoy! It’s been Malfoy all along.”

Hermione shakes her head, “No, that’s not possible.”

“Why not?” Ginny says quietly, detaching herself from Harry. Hermione gives her a startled – betrayed – look. “We’re worried about you, Hermione,” Ginny continues when she sees Hermione’s eyebrows contract defiantly.

“You don’t understand,” Hermione interjects. “He was _with me_ the night Trelawny and Dennis went missing.”

Ron is watching her doubtfully, “Maybe he was distracting you.”

Hermione thinks for a moment, then – more hesitantly – she says, “I sought _him_ out that night. If anything, I’d been distracting him.”

“You sought him out?” Ron blurts out.

“Oh, come off it, Ron,” Harry says in exasperation.

Ron twists his neck to look at Harry and narrows his eyes, “Whose side are you on?”

Harry ignores Ron’s hurt countenance and turns to Hermione. “Are you telling me,” he says, a solemn expression stealing over his features, “that you can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that Malfoy is not behind any of this?”

Hermione wavers. “Well,” she says, “maybe not without a shadow of a doubt.”

“And there it is!” Ron says with a satisfied air. Harry watches Hermione gravely as the latter bites her lip and looks down.

…

Margot’s disappearance does a number on the school’s environment. Students are instructed to pair up when traversing the corridors of the castle, to venture outside the buildings only if absolutely necessary, and – always – with a supervising teacher. Professors are instructed to keep the atmosphere of their classrooms as light and cheerful as possible – to model faith and resilience. But the bleakness of the empty hallways, the suspicious glances of the students darting around the faces of their peers, the monotonous schedule of meals and classes and dormitories, have both students and professors exposing their most tense and disagreeable natures. After all, each entrance had been sealed and guarded the night Margot went missing. So, whatever has been terrorizing the castle – must have already been inside. Does it sit lurking in the shadows of forgotten classrooms, waiting for the alignment of sun, Earth, and moon to strike again? Has it been hiding in the depths of the dungeons biding time? Perhaps it slips between the cracks of the stone, or slithers beneath the floorboards. Some say that it floats just below the high ceilings, casting shadows and dread, as they walk anxiously, snapping their heads up to check for uninvited travellers every few seconds. Wherever it is – whatever it is – they all know one thing: it had come from within and, in all likelihood, will re-emerge on the next full moon to claim its next victim.

Hermione takes the stairs two at a time on her way up to the third floor. She hasn’t seen Malfoy in well over a week and the fury which she meant to unleash upon him over his behaviour at the ball was slowly dwindling. Surely, she couldn’t let him go without rebuke. When she reaches the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, Malfoy is already on his way out, and they nearly collide in the doorway.

“Granger, what the bloody hell?” Malfoy shuffles his arms to retain the books slipping from his grasp.

“Thought I’d run into you here,” Hermione says matter-of-factly.

Malfoy shoots her an annoyed glance and then pointedly looks at his name etched into the plaque on the classroom door. “Well, aren’t you quick on the uptake?”

“You seem rather dodgy,” she says, watching him transfer his weight from one foot to the next. “Have you got somewhere to be?”

“Indeed, I do,” he says without looking straight at her. He walks out into the corridor toward the winding staircase.

“Where?” Hermione rushes up behind him.

Malfoy sighs in frustration. “That’s not your concern, far as I’m aware.”

Hermione stops abruptly and stares at the back of Malfoy’s blond head, the anger she feared was fading quickly resurfacing.

Hearing her steps come to a halt, Malfoy breathes out dramatically, and lazily turns to face her. “What can I do for you, Granger?”

Hermione scoffs. “Oh please,” she says, “don’t let me stand in the way of your highly important errands.”

Malfoy shifts his jaw and purses his lips but not even the hand that he brushes over his mouth can conceal the whisper of a grin that flickers over his face. “Have you got a problem with me, Granger?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Alright then,” Malfoy turns so quickly that his robes swell at his feet and billow as he rotates.

“Why would you do that?” Hermione says as he reaches the staircase, kicking herself inwardly for the shrill desperation in her voice.

She hears him exhale – practically groan – before he turns to face her again. “What did I do now?” he says.

“You danced with me,” she says quietly, recognizing in a hot panic that she sounds childish and absurd.

Malfoy is already turning away before she even finishes her sentence. “Weren’t exactly complaining, were you, Granger?”

“You shouldn’t’ve done that,” she might as well continue with this charade, she tells herself.

“Shove off, Granger,” he adjusts the bookbag on his shoulder and starts descending the stairs. “It’s not exactly the scandal of the century.”

Hermione watches him in disgust. “You did it just to aggravate him.”

Malfoy pauses his descent only to say, “He’s a big boy, he’ll get over it.”

“You’re vile!” Hermione cries after him, thrusting her torso over the balustrade to see the top of his head as he sprints down the spiral steps.

“And you’re irritating,” he calls back without looking up.

…

Stalking Draco Malfoy had not been her intention. Her initial objective had been to reprimand him for his actions toward Ron, grudgingly forgive him because, really, he’s all she’s got at the moment, and tentatively broach the subject of his whereabouts the night of Margot’s disappearance. She hadn’t believed, even for one second, that Malfoy was in any way involved in the bizarre events taking place at Hogwarts, no matter what Harry and Ron had insinuated. But she’d decided that it couldn’t hurt to ask.

Of course, when she went to see him, Malfoy had dodged her like she’d come to claim his unborn child, like he had something to hide. And so, naturally, she had scampered after him, slumping her slender frame to slink into a prowl as she descended the stairs above him. And now she’s skulking in the tunnels below the Hospital Wing – a measly corner between her and Malfoy, who’d stopped his purposeful march abruptly – terribly regretting her decision to be here.

She hears the scrape of stone against stone, the shuffle of papers, a grate? She dares not peek around the wall and desperately tries to slow her breathing so that her gasps don’t cut through the cold, muggy silence that hangs in the air like an invisible villain. Hermione sees a light emerge from around the corner – Malfoy had lit his wand – and presses herself flat against the cool stone. She feels the dampness of the dungeon wall seep through the material of her shirt and winces mutely.

Malfoy sighs and Hermione hears more rustling of parchment. The reeling distress that lurches against her ribcage, the twisting knot that’s winding itself in the pit of her stomach, the trickling sweat that’s stinging her eyes – they’re all telling her to run. But she stays. Stays and hopes that her gut and her mind are wrong. And that her heart is right.

She steps out from behind the wall into the light.


	18. Chapter 18

“Malfoy,” she says, forcing a note of confidence into her voice, “what are you doing?”

Malfoy looks up from his crouched position. He’s holding a rusty metal grate in his hands; the orange dust is smeared on his pants from resting it against his knees. Hermione’s eyes slide from his pale face to the opening in the wall which, presumably, the grate is supposed to be covering. Inside, she sees a stack of yellowed pieces of parchment, curled at the edges from moisture and age. They flutter slightly in the soft stream of air that escapes the duct. She glances back at his face. He doesn’t look treacherous, or conniving, or deceitful; he just looks hurt. “I thought I heard something,” he finally says.

Hermione sighs. “I followed you.”

Malfoy cocks an eyebrow and suppresses a grin. “You’re not just taking a leisurely stroll through the dungeons underneath the Black Lake?”

Hermione shakes her head meekly. “You were behaving strangely. I had to know what you were up to.”

“You _had_ to know?” Malfoy lets out a sigh and leans the grate against the wall. He stands and Hermione perceives his height once more when he’s so close.

Instead of looking up at him as he rises – instead of searching his face for answers – Hermione looks away, lest he catch a glimpse of her own inner demons through her eyes. She looks past Malfoy at the dim torches on the walls. At the illuminated stone bricks within their halos that sparkle with condensation. She could feel the cool spot on her back where the water had seeped through her shirt and she shivers from the inside out.

“You don’t trust me,” Malfoy says – almost sadly.

Hermione glances back at him indignantly. “Would _you_ trust you?”

Malfoy is still watching her, his gaze imperturbable. They stand there in silence for a long time and then – then Malfoy places a couple of fingers on her abdomen. The touch is subtle but it sends shudders through to her fingertips, right down to her feet, straight into her heart. Malfoy moves forward but keeps his contact weightless. Hermione lets out an immensely shallow breath. He doesn’t need to know that her pulse has quickened or that she suddenly needs more air in her lungs. She’d rather look away entirely, but his gaze is infuriatingly entrancing, and looking into his eyes is making her violently happy.

He’s left a nearly imperceptible space between them. His face has gotten so close now that Hermione would need to hold her breath to avoid blowing at the hair falling around his eyes. She steps back. Whatever she may or may not feel toward him, she is not ready to lose herself in the chaos that is Draco Malfoy.

He continues to slowly, unhurriedly, close the gap between them even as she backs away. She finally feels the dank stone wall against her back and shivers. Malfoy is so close to her that her insides – the entirety of her gut – is _aching_. Malfoy lowers himself a touch until their faces are on the same level and, for a moment, Hermione decides that she will let him come as close as he wants. Close enough to touch. Close enough to feel. Close enough to regret it afterward.

But Malfoy doesn’t stop his descent there. He continues sinking until he is squatted before her, while Hermione stares at him dubiously, frozen in place. If she moves, she most certainly will just collapse. Malfoy reaches around her legs and rustles with the papers sitting within the duct that Hermione has forgotten about completely. He pulls out the stack and gets up once more, holding the pages out to her as he rises.

Hermione takes the stack tentatively and slides sideways from under his scrutiny. He’s left facing an empty wall and he cocks his head to the side questioningly. He glances at her with a slim smirk on his face.

“What is this?” she says, ignoring his peculiar behaviour.

Malfoy runs a hand through his hair and turns to face her. He sighs wearily as some strands of blond hair fall back into his eyes. He says, “The answer to your question.”

Hermione narrows her eyes, “Which one?”

Malfoy scoffs. “How many do you have?”

Hermione tries to suppress a smirk. “So many,” she lets out a soft laugh.

Malfoy sucks in his cheeks to keep from smiling. “One at a time then, yeah, Granger?”

She nods and looks down at the first piece of parchment. “Lumos,” she mutters under her breath, and brings her lit wand tip to the yellowed edge of the paper. “It’s a letter,” she says, glancing up to see Malfoy’s expression. He appears impassive again. But his eyes – his eyes are almost glowing in the darkness. They are rimmed by a tired redness that makes the grey turmoil within them even more intense. They are pleading, or perhaps hopeful. They are anxious – he is anxious. Hermione shakes her head slightly, disregarding the pity she feels for him. He doesn’t deserve it, she reminds herself. He doesn’t. She looks down at the parchment and begins to read.

_Dear Draco,_

__

_Where to begin? You don’t know me yet but soon you will, I suppose. I know you, though. I know approximately every bit of your soul. I know what you have set out to do. I know what you’ve been tasked with. I know how crippled with fear you’ve been. Because I know what it is to walk in your shoes._

____

_I’ve been asked to be your guide. To lead you through this life to your next. To help you become the man you are destined to be._

_____ _

_Who am I, you might ask? How can you put your faith in some empty words on a piece of parchment? Well, I task you – your first undertaking in my name – perceive the hand. Does the penmanship look at all familiar? Does my language make you wonder? If not, then I’ll leave you with this:_

______ _ _

______ _ _

_Purum Semper_

_____ _

Hermione looks up from the letter. Malfoy is carefully watching her, waiting.

_____ _

“Purum Semper?” Hermione says. “It’s Latin.”

_____ _

Malfoy remains unmoved, save, of course, for his telling gaze.

_____ _

“Pure,” she says. She takes a pause when the realization hits her. Her eyes widen and she takes a step toward Malfoy. “Always,” she whispers.

_____ _

“Aren’t you going to keep reading?” he says coolly, although his eyes are ablaze, the turbulence within them reflecting the flickering torches behind her.

_____ _

“Who wrote this? Sirius?”

_____ _

Malfoy scoffs. “Sirius couldn’t give a rat’s ass about me. Keep reading, Granger.”

_____ _

“Your mother, then?” Hermione presses.

_____ _

“Granger, will you stop guessing and just read?” Malfoy says in exasperation.

_____ _

Hermione advances toward him. “I know it’s the motto of your family’s crest. Sirius told Harry all about the Blacks' disturbing obsession with purity.” Hermione’s face contorts as she tries to keep her revulsion in check. “No mudbloods or Squibs soiling your bloodline,” she says coldly.

_____ _

Malfoy continues to watch her in silence as she rails on him, although his gaze hardens considerably.

_____ _

“ _Toujours Pur_ ,” Hermione muses. “You’re sick. You’re abhorrent.” Hermione grimaces, her features scrunched up, hateful, disappointed. She’s about to lift the sleeve of her shirt to expose the scar on her forearm left from her encounter with the Black family values back at Malfoy Manor when she gasps. “Bellatrix!” she breathes.

_____ _

Malfoy sighs and rolls his eyes.

_____ _

“Bellatrix was a Black!” Hermione exclaims, her cry echoes along the stone walls of the dungeon corridor. “Before she became a Lestrange.”

_____ _

“Oh, fucking hell, Hermione, just read the next goddamn letter!” Malfoy shouts.

_____ _

Hermione blinks at him, taken aback. “Don’t have a fit, Malfoy.”

_____ _

Malfoy looks shaken – perturbed. “I need you to understand it, Hermione,” he says quietly. “And it’ll be easier to explain once you’ve,” he gestures to the stack of papers in her hand, “read the next goddamn letter,” he finishes gently.

_____ _

Hermione purses her mouth so that the bow of her top lip protrudes haughtily, and lowers her gaze to the parchment she’s clutching, flipping to the subsequent page. If she's noticed his use of her first name, she doesn’t show it. Bringing her wand tip back up to light the next letter, she continues to read.

_____ _

_Draco,_

______ _ _

_By now you’ve received your mark. You’ve been led astray. This was out of my control. The events that shall ensue as a result must still come to pass. The path you now follow, you must keep. A very fair future depends on it._

_______ _ _ _

_But know, in your heart, in mine, that you are pure. Not in the sense you still believe. But in another, far more important way. I speak of your soul, Draco. Although not always kind, you are not cruel. Although not always true, you are not false. And although not always right, you are not mistaken. You, as you fear, are on the wrong side of this war. But here you must linger, for what is to come relies on your commitment to remain where you are. On your ability to persevere, despite your growing hatred of what you have become. One day, you will not hate yourself as much anymore._

________ _ _ _ _

_My second task: bring the two letters you have received to the place where you keep your literature – you know of what I speak. It is imperative that all further communications from me are left there._

_________ _ _ _ _ _

_Yours always,_

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

_You Know Who_

_________ _ _ _ _ _

Hermione stares at the last three words for what seems like eons. She rereads them just to see if she’s read them correctly. She skims the entire letter again. And again. And hangs on to every word. Especially the last three.

_________ _ _ _ _ _

“Still reading?” Malfoy finally says.

_________ _ _ _ _ _

Hermione looks up. “You Know Who?” she says. Her eyes are wide – she looks bewildered.

_________ _ _ _ _ _

And Malfoy lets out a hysterical laugh. He cackles until tears glisten in his eyes.

_________ _ _ _ _ _

Hermione looks at him like he’s gone off his rocker. “Why are you laughing?”

_________ _ _ _ _ _

“Let me see that,” he says, still chuckling as he reaches for the piece of parchment in her hand. “I forgot that I wrote that.”

_________ _ _ _ _ _


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the mini hiatus - I'm working on multiple stories at once, please don't hate me! I appreciate all your wonderful comments and messages - please keep them coming <3 I'm very excited for this story and where it's headed! I hope you guys are too!

“Me and me,” Hermione says softly.

Malfoy gives her a steady look. He shifts his weight and realigns his posture. As if standing straight would alleviate the tension between them. The truth is, he doesn’t really know how to tell her. She’s just going to have to figure it out on her own.

“The letter you got,” she said, her voice on edge, “from – whomever it was from. It said, ‘Lucky there are two of you.’”

Malfoy nods, almost reluctantly.

“There are two of you,” she whispers.

Malfoy’s left eyebrow moves a touch – twitches, more like. He’s trying to understand her train of thought. He’s considering how much he can leave out. How much he wants to leave out. And how much he wants to tell her. There’s an exhilaration wrapping on itself in his chest. It’s growing and twisting, as if it wants to escape through his throat. With some surprise – and a great deal of relief – he realizes that he wants to tell it all to her. That he wants her to know. He opens his mouth to speak when she starts advancing on him, producing her wand so quickly before his face that he wonders whether she hasn’t been holding onto it all along, her fingers clasping it like the grip of a revolver in its holster. He steps back as one would instinctively when being charged. His strides are wide and certain, even though he knows there’s a wall somewhere behind him and soon enough his back will find it.

Once she’s got him cornered, she whispers, “Who are you?”

He narrows his eyes, watching her curiously. “Whatever do you mean, Granger?”

“Who _are_ you?” she says louder.

“Are you going to hex me?” he says, inching his face forward so that the tip of her wand rests squarely on the apple of his cheek, just underneath his eye. “Do it, then,” his eyes widen momentarily as his defiant nature flashes through them before dimming once more.

“Why are you writing letters to Draco Malfoy? Why are there _two of you?_ Answer me, or I – I – well, perhaps I very well _might_ hex you.”

His gaze softens, a hint of a smile flickers below the length of her wand. “You know, Granger, for a witch as astute as you claim to be, you can be quite –”

“If you say dense, I swear I’ll –”

“I was going to say, rational,” he says quietly. “I’d imagined you might be more original in your inferences.”

“First of all, I don’t claim to be anything. Secondly, what are you on about?”

He brings his hand up to her wand, placing his long fingers over it, his rings glinting in the low light of the torch to his right. He lowers it slowly until no obstructions further crowd the space between them. “My name is,” he says quietly, his gaze cascading over the features of her face, “Draco Malfoy. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Hermione’s face contorts. “I don’t understand,” she shakes her head.

Her eyebrows are knotted in confusion and Malfoy catches himself admiring her expression. He nods, “I gathered.”

Instead of exclaiming emphatically for him to elaborate, Hermione just watches him. This catches Malfoy by surprise – most of what Hermione does catches him by surprise these days. “Draco Malfoy,” she says, “writing to Draco Malfoy.”

“I suppose,” he says, “the question isn’t to whom I’m writing, but to when.”

Hermione lets out a short breath which sounds almost like a quick laugh. She continues to study him, and he watches her right back, getting accustomed, now, to looking at her at length, while she stands so close. “Why?” she finally says. “Why’ve you been writing to yourself?”

“Because,” he pauses, raises his eyes to look at the low ceiling of the dungeon corridor, “I finally realized that the letters I’d been receiving while studying here were written by my own hand.”

At this, Hermione does laugh. But it’s not a ‘this is a hilarious situation’ kind of laugh – it’s more of a ‘this is really fucked up’ kind of laugh. “You’ve already received these letters?”

Malfoy nods.

Hermione continues smiling. “I have so many questions.”

Malfoy attempts to stifle a chuckle. “What else is new, Granger?”

Suddenly, though, her smile vanishes like it never existed, and she stares up at him with horrified eyes. “Two of you to destroy?”

Malfoy flinches but otherwise remains unmoved.

“How would one destroy both you of?”

“Well,” Malfoy says slowly, “if I had to venture a guess – and this is just how I’d go about destroying ‘both’,” he pauses when Hermione winces and nudges her awkwardly on the shoulder in an attempt to alleviate the anxiety that’s creasing her forehead, “I’d go back in time, and destroy the younger Draco. Because, let’s face it,” he chuckles, “if he’s dead, well, I’m assuming that I would be, as well. But it’s just conjecture, really.”

“Malfoy!” she exclaims, grabbing him by the shoulders and nearly shaking him as her fingertips dig into him firmly. He’s so caught off guard that he just stares at her mutely. “Malfoy, why in the world would you keep this from me?”

Malfoy is still watching her suspiciously. He shrugs, “Didn’t think you’d care all that much.”

Hermione slaps him across the shoulder and grips him again. “How could you say that?”

Malfoy raises his hands to brush her fingers from his shoulders. “We’re not exactly friends, Hermione.”

On the one hand, it startles him that she looks hurt. On the other, he probably saw it coming and said it only to upset her. Her hands fall to her sides after he shrugs them off. “Are we not?” she says.

Her words – although to be expected after her sombre reaction – somehow warm him even as he’s not cold – even as, in fact, he’s already quite warm – hot, indeed. He takes a moment to swallow because it feels like he’d forgotten to do that for some time, the gulp is loud in his ears and he wonders if she hears it, if she can sense his apprehension. For some reason, he can’t bear for her to perceive any such weakness in him. For some reason, he cares what she thinks of him.

“No matter,” she rolls her eyes. “Whatever we are, Malfoy, surely you didn’t think I’d want you dead.”

He hesitates before responding because he’s barely heard her. She’s over it, over the moment. He is not.

Hermione begins to step back, already in thought, her head bowed, looking away, considering their next move –

And he’s not ready for it. All he could consider is the here and now. And he’s been overthinking it all. And – damn it to hell – he begins to move before he’s even made up his mind. He takes her by the hand, his fingers slip down to clasp around hers. She looks back up at him immediately and something in her face gives him courage. Something in her eyes draws him closer. He’s pulling her already, stepping away from the wall – kicking off of it, really – and travelling toward her all at once. He’s standing over her in a moment, before he’s fully prepared for the fallout. But he’s already moving his hand to sweep the strand of hair that’s caught on her eyelashes, he’s already tucking it behind her ear, he’s already gazing into her eyes as his fingers linger there, behind her ear, with the wisp of hair he’s still holding on to – all of this without intending to, as if his limbs were moving of their own accord. He could tell that she’s stopped breathing for an instant – after heaving a gasp – before exhaling it out shakily. Her breaths afterward are quicker and – for lack of a better word – apparent. He could tell that, this time, he’s caught her off guard.

He doesn’t need to kiss her, he thinks. Just being here, this close, this entwined – in more ways than one – he is content. Why this proximity contents him, he cannot fathom. And yet, here he is studying the pores on her face, appreciating the darkness of her eyes, sighing over the air that escapes her lips, breathing through the desire he feels to melt right into her. Even if he doesn’t kiss her here and now, he deliberates, it’s not as though they could just go back, forget this ever happened, forget that he – and he nearly cringes at the not-so-distant memory – grabbed her like a madman and then brushed her hair out of her face and then stood – stands – like an imbecile just – what? – staring at her. His hand, he recognizes dimly – the one that’s still holding hers – is becoming sweaty. Why, _why_ is everything about Hermione, in particular, so difficult? It’s not worth it. Except, it is.

His fingers, still locked on her hair, ease their grip, falter within the curls of it, search tentatively for the skin underneath, the bare softness of her neck. Hermione moves now, as if the wandering of his hand awakens her suddenly. She steps closer, she sighs into his face as he lowers it. She holds her hand out at his stomach, hesitant against the material of his shirt, her palm not quite touching him, not quite not. His fingers find a trace of warmth beneath the chaos of her hair, trail along, first down, slowly – oh so slowly. Then up, still along her neck, still with the faintest of touches. Upward, his thumb softly pushes up on her chin. Upward, her eyes lift to see him. No, this is not something that they could just forget.

His lips descend on hers already open. They pass over her mouth in awe, not wholly cognizant yet of how such abandon has come to pass, yet brutally aware of all the implications. He tries to think and not think all at once. He can’t quite accomplish either.

Her mouth against his is both an indulgence and an imposition. He nearly pushes her away as he brings her closer. He nearly shoves her aside as he grips her tighter. It’s making him sick, nauseated, intoxicated. They are turning, spinning, reeling – falling? No, no, that’s just him. They are swaying, staggering – lurching into a wall. Crashing through it, nearly. If he weren’t so despicably reckless, he might be concerned that the collision could have had more deleterious repercussions. The collision with the wall, that is. The ramifications of the other collision, well, that remains to be seen.

But her lips tear at his so ferociously that he soon dismisses that thought and the others along with it. She lets out a sigh and he knows then, in the pause, in the break of contact, that nothing – _nothing_ – could bring him to stop loving Hermione. Not Potter, with his self-righteous air; not Weasley, with his pitiful rivalry; not even his father, with his hatred for Mudbloods. And regardless of how much this devotion contaminates his integrity – pollutes the components of his being – she’s become an integral element of his existence. And her addition does not detract – no, it _augments_ that notion, the notion that he is pure. Not in the sense that he had once believed, no. But in his heart, in his soul. And now, in his head. Somehow, he knows all of this in the instant that it takes for her to sigh.

“Hermione,” he whispers; he swallows. “Hermione.” He leans his forehead into hers, closing his eyes. “What the fuck is happening, Hermione?” He means, of course, what the fuck is happening to _him?_

Hermione looks up into his eyes. “You want the minutes?”

Malfoy begins to chuckle. He lifts his face, continuing to smile against her temple. The worry, though, begins to creep back in. After all, she still doesn’t know everything.


End file.
